Dark Genesis
by Tylec Asroc
Summary: Shadow died at Colony ARK, but the legacy of Gerald Robotnik lives on. Rouge the Bat is about to discover a secret in the depths of Robotnik's lair, and a trio of villains are about to unite into the most dangerous team of Sonic Heroes.
1. I: The Immortal Legacy

Introduction

Shadow the Hedgehog and all other related characters copyrighted by Sega.

* * *

/**D-A-R-K--G-E-N-E-S-I-S-**/

_-Written by Tylec Asroc-_

* * *

The world spun with insanity. The stars were on fire; the empty peace of space was an inferno. The drop threw him out of control – his body crashed against the capsule walls with the struggle of re-entry. The world was burning – even the blue planet growing beneath his feet was red: red for rage, red for blood.

He would never forgive them. Even as he rattled about unrestrained, even now he hammered the glass with his fists and screamed. The fire around him grew so hot that every tear began to sizzle and burn from his face as vapor. The capsule was choked with the smoke.

A violent slam, and he flew into the wall, smashing his dark spines with a force that would have killed an ordinary creature. Not him. Not The Ultimate.

The pain was enough to stop his rampage though, and he curled his body tight, as if he could stop the hurt from leaking out. It flowed anyhow, through his meek, ruined sobbing. Around him, the fires still burned.

In this moment of pause, he knew what had to be done, and he vowed to the fire and the smoke and all of the darkness that he would do what she asked – nay, what she commanded! For his lady, for his love – he would kill them all.

Every last one. All for you. Maria.

The name brought back the righteous anger, the overpowering rage, and he exploded. His fists slammed into his container. His voice called her name.

_MARIA!_

* * *

Reality returned with a seizure's jolt and a pain of whiplash. His eyes filtered in the walls of Prison Island. His lips still screamed her name, he realized, and he clamped his mouth tight. The muscles of his jaws clenched, but they could not hold. He could still see her – it would not go away, and neither would the pain he knew.

He let it out – head into his lap, tears onto the floor. Gerald Robotnik fell to the floor and cried.

* * *

"Christ, he's screaming again."

They could hear it echo down the sterile, metal hallways; their footsteps kept time for the tortured howling. The younger one twitched at the shrieking – as if those notes of agony were plucking his heartstrings – but Professor Edward Cliffs did not slow his pace, nor did he look back at the scientist accompanying him.

"You can't save him," the young one – Howards – offered. "Every day his mind comes closer to breaking. Listen to him!"

Cliffs only continued to swing his arms and arch his back and stride like a man of great importance. His mind was set as the fate of he and his companion. "He functions well enough in the labs," Cliffs countered.

"On a technical level, yes, but – Cliffs, he's going insane! One minute he's with you, the next he's five years back and throwing a fit! He couldn't adapt to Prison Island, and now he's paying the price. He's dead."

"We're all dead, Howards. We don't exist. We're just ghosts lingering around unfinished business; memories of a time long past; spirits lost in the fog of time." He gave a smile – scientific brilliance _and_ a poet. "We all died the day these apes," he cocked his head at their stony-faced guards, "made there little jaunt aboard the ARK with live ammunition. Wretched meat-bags."

Howards gave a noticeable twitch, as if bracing for a rifle butt over his shoulders, but the guards just continued their lock-step marching. "It was a meteorite," he reminded Cliffs. "The ARK was ruined after it struck."

"Oh, you've certainly adapted," Cliffs sneered from his lofty height. "They don't care what we say, _Rat_, just as long as we can't get out."

Through the corner of his spectacles, Cliffs could watch the man grow red. It made him smile and push his nose higher. Howards was the Rat among the ARK survivors. A rat because he scurried about unquestioningly like a well-trained lab specimen, but for Cliffs, it was more personal: Howards was the reason he was still on Prison Island – this forsaken rock of weapons research – and not scuttling out of a drainage pipe and swimming for the freedom of the mainland. Rat indeed.

The vermin raised his neck, trying to reach the height of his colleague's proud stature. "I happen to have a healthy respect for authority."

"They've broken you so thoroughly, all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put you back together again."

"Nursery rhymes? You're starting to sound like Gerald."

Cliffs shrugged. "Keeps a man sane to have a hobby: Gerald makes up his songs; you brownnose; I imagine ways out of this hell-hole."

"Concocting another redundant 'escape plan', Edward?"

"None you need know about."

They passed the final security door and entered cellblock C5. Now there were no barriers to keep out the sobbing. The Rat clasped his palms over his ears, and Cliffs merely continued, unfazed. _If you only knew, Rat_, he thought, smug in his superiority.

The military kept their kidnapped minds isolated in groups of two or three, but Gerald Robotnik was the only one to endure solitary confinement. There was a single barred alcove in this room of concrete, rusting pipes and foul stench. The Rat shivered noticeably in the damp cave of the banshee.

"Five minutes," barked one of the stiff guards in green army uniform.

If Gerald was dead, Cliffs thought, then what did that make these lifeless drones who escorted them to and from laboratories? The only proof of life were the fleeting smiles that arose when they beat him. It was almost worth the pain to see them unmasked, these mighty lords of life and death.

With a dainty tread, Edward stepped up to the howling cage while Howards sulked over his shoulder. "He won't understand you," the young man griped. Cliffs shushed him. The sobbing had reached a lull and the speaker was gasping up all the air he had neglected in his anguish. A shadow was sprawled in the corner of the cell. Cliffs leaned his head towards the bar, hands folded behind his back as if he were bending down to the vox on a ticket booth. He spoke clearly and slowly. "Gerald?"

The mutterings ceased in an alarmed hush. They could see the figure draw its body up tightly. "M… Maria?" it asked.

"No."

There was more movement from the back of the cell. The figure was sitting up, knees drawn to its chest and scrutinizing the visitors.

"Sasha?"

"Your wife is dead, Gerald. She passed away twenty years ago. Cancer."

The figure whimpered and broke down into crying again. "Sasha… no, no … I KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! I'M A DOCTOR YOU … You… treatments … were working … Should have lived… should have…"

"Gerald, we are on a limited schedule…"

The prisoner pulled himself together instantly. They caught the glint of dark glasses observing them. "Iyyyvo." the voice beamed with a hiss of pleasure.

"Ivo lives in Starlight City, Gerald. This is Prison Island."

There was still no connection. "He's going to be something, he is," the voice babbled absently. "Brilliant boy. Told him to study hard. Learn everything. Science, m'boy holds the key to our future. To our happiness. To perfectio…"

"Gerald, it's Edward Cliffs: your friend. The Rat is here too." Howards scowled lividly.

"They would be sooooo happy. ……."

"Gerald…"

Sadder now. Scared. "No. Not happy. Came. Killed. All gone." He inhaled through his teeth. "_They always want to die_," the voice remarked with sinister bite. "Find a faster way. No one wants to … _I could have saved her!_ Progressing. No. No. Gone. All gone."

Cliffs sighed angrily. _This is not the time, Gerald_. He needed some solid bait. "I'm going to see Shadow."

The caged man choked on his own breath. He coughed and gagged violently on his dry throat. Cliffs wondered if there was any spit left in those glands, parched from sobbing daily and screaming nightly. But when the man was finally done, and settled comfortably against the back wall, he did not speak again.

Cliffs continued in a casual manner. "I've been given security clearance for a visitation Gerald; I'm going to see him tomorrow. Would be nice if you could come along."

The figure leaned his head back in the corner and looked at the ceiling, cooing and mumbling so very softly. Cliffs looked back at Howards, who looked at his watch and tapped it smugly. They were due soon.

"One minute," barked the guard.

Cliffs spun back at the cell. "Gerald, you have to give me your answer now. One o'clock, tomorrow."

Howards rolled his eyes and tugged his arm. "You've over-stimulated him, Professor. I doubt he'll wake for an hour now." He pulled his colleague away, and Cliffs was so dejected, he lowered his head and let the rodent lead him away.

"One?"

Cliffs ripped the hand away and sprung at the bars. "One o'clock, Gerald. Tomorrow. I'll come with guards and I'll take you to the hospital wing."

"One." This time was for confirmation.

Cliffs nodded and tried to keep his face in the detached calmness of the elite, though his muscles longed to express his immense pleasure. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

He turned to walk away. "Wait!" A thin hand shot through the bars and brushed at his heel. Cliffs turned swiftly and dropped to his knee. Gerald had crawled out of the corner and was stooped at the front of his cage.

Cliffs hadn't actually seen the man for months; they worked different projects, different scientific fields and Gerald's growing behavior problems had cost him many hours alone in this cell. Cliffs heaved a gasp.

He looked wretched. Gerald was no longer a man of science – understatement: he was no longer a _man_ at all! This was a wild beast hunched over the door of his cage! His bald head had grown a whispy mane down the back of his neck; his tightly drawn face was coloured with stubble. His moustache – once a distinguished handlebar, its length his trademark – had grown into a crazed gray pushbroom: tangled, sagging and fraying from where it was shoved under his hawkish nose. The skin on his face was so sallow and tight; it transformed his visage into a skull with hard cheekbones and prominent dents above his ears.

A hand was reaching out for Cliffs, and the physicist backed off as he saw the decaying claw with is bulging veins and wrinkled knuckles and outgrown nails. The sight, the stench, was overpowering! He was suddenly inclined to agree with the Rat's opinion on Gerald's mental state.

The prisoner made another grab and caught Cliffs' jumpsuit, pulling him to the bars until their noses touched. Cliffs went green. Howards was yelling something at the guards. Gerald had dropped his glasses and two beady, black eyes stared out of that wasted Death's head, where every glistening pore was visible as a serpent's scales.

"You're a fool," his gravely voice whispered ever so carefully. "You've made this a last-minute rush," he said, threateningly and sanely. Cliffs blinked and stared, so totally unprepared for this scolding. He was about to remove the withering hand, and let his colleague know the burden of getting _any_ clearance to the med wing, but Gerald gave him a knowing wink, and his eyes pointed to the guards behind them. Then he planted a wet smack of a kiss on Cliff's nose.

Hands grabbed the physicist's shoulders and dragged him to his feet. "I love you, Sasha," Gerald babbled, stretching his clawed hand through the bars and waving as his mind wandered into the past. "Oh, don't cry, don't cry," he cooed. "I'm only gone for a month, just a silly symposium. Posium. Poohhh zeee ummmm!"

Back in the hallway, Cliffs dusted himself off like a haughty socialite and fixed his glasses back on his nose with impeccable refinement. Howards was breaking into fits and giggles as the guards pushed them away.

"Cliffs, I trust you'll contain yourself. It will only be a month after all."

"Do be quiet, Rat," he returned, nose back up in the air.

"Of course, Mrs. Robotnik," he sniggered. "Ah, well now – you've got Gerald to come along on your little play date. I hope you're as satisfied as I am."

Cliffs just stared the Rat right in the eyes. The contented smile on his face was growing to such unbridled joy that his visage stretched in a mad ecstasy to rival Gerald's happy moments. "Howards, if you could find a man happier than I – well, I would go back to the ARK, race into the control room and fire the Cliffs Cannon."

The Rat smirked, still enjoying his moment of triumph. "You know old chum, we've really got to do something about that name. Cliffs Cannon … ugh!"

Edward smiled and nodded, his eyes darting up now and then at the ventilation ducts.

* * *

Gerald waited for the army grunts departure and the familiar lock, click and clank of the doors. "Finally," he sighed with a voice much changed from his rambling idiocies. This was an aged voice of reason.

He sat himself down at his cot and wriggled out of his splotched lab cloak, then his rancid turtleneck sweater. It was disgusting to have to wear those rags day in and out, working under a stench that grew with every day's added perspiration, but he had to endure. Had to keep up his charade. To groom or bathe demonstrated too much sanity; besides, no matter what his state of cleanliness, he still felt a constant filth hanging about. He spit and wiped clean the lips that had kissed that contaminated creature.

The sound-minded professor looked at his exposed forearm, long since shriveled and bulging with veins. The rulers of Prison Island monitored he and his colleagues ever so carefully. They searched and stripped him of everything when he entered and exited the labs, fearing someone might mix together a bomb, or use some wires to bring a blackout or even take hostages with a dinner knife. There would be no diabolical tinkering for the hardened scientist, no; not when they combed him down to the skin.

Gerald smiled, and allowed himself a chuckle – a rare gift when all his laughter had to be maniacal these days. Then he took his little finger with its exaggerated nail, and picked away the skin near his wrist.

After a little digging he was able to peel back the layer of epidermis to his elbow. "You're sooo smug, you kingpins of war," he muttered, secure that anything picked up would be ignored as further rambling. "Well you can break them all down: Howards – cryogenics; Cliffs – molecular physics; Cleavesdale – thermodynamics. But great is the fool who thinks he can contain the master of Biology."

With the false flesh pulled back, the professor had full access to the thin microcomputer he had concealed since the ARK raid. Flesh toned and thin as his wrists, his secret lifeline was undetectable to all scans, because there was nothing metallic to pick up: it was a completely organic computer. DNA held our genetic data; why not manipulate it to save the record of words and numbers? Once his personal interface for The Prototype and its successors, now it was Gerald's second brain to record and plot out his plans. Nearest his wrist was the display screen full of fluids, and all the way down his arm it ran like a calculator with tiny mole-sized keys that needed the careful prod of a pencil – or a nail – to respond.

Tonight was the night his work would be complete.

Scooting himself to the light's edge, he jabbed and poked the tool on his arm while mentally cursing that pompous narcissist Cliffs for his timing. There were only a few more memories to complete – aftermath where the creature would be pulled from the pod, kicking and screaming bloody murder until it was sedated – and he had every confidence in their realism. But there were some key scenes he needed to review.

He made an automatic glance at the thick security door, listening a whole minute for footsteps or voices before he proceeded. When his surveillance came up negative, he went on, moving swiftly to sit the computer on his lap and to peel loose the input/output cables that looked so much like blue veins with round, dish-like tips. Ever casting furtive glances outside his cell, he gathered his straggly hair out of the way and stuck the nodes to his skull – one above each ear.

Gerald took a deep breath and tried to steady himself; this part was always revolting and the pain could never be braced against. Best to be quick. He shoved his finger into a button, gasping as his body went rigid and his brain reeled from the sudden sensory overload.

He twitched and lapped up puffs of air like a drinking animal. There was ringing in his ears as his mind struggled with its sudden extension. Though the brain felt no pain, it could make its distress quite audible through the senses it controlled. Gerald cringed as someone pushed the _PANIC_ button on his sense of touch.

But then it was over with a swift slap in the face. He could breathe easy once again. His mind was "on-line".

Working quickly, Gerald Robotnik pressed buttons and opened data files, selecting the highly advanced audio-visual presentations he had created so feverishly and so secretively the last four years. He had to check that these were complete, these moments of truth.

A final button and his body went into a limp state of relaxation, his mind balancing on the border of the subconscious. He was no longer in his cell, but panting breathlessly as he ran down a metal corridor. Gerald felt exhaustion, as if he had just run a marathon. He felt panic as well: adrenaline racing through his system.

A voice, and his nerves jumped: "Find them before they escape!" Her breath was ever in his ears; she might die exerting herself if they didn't get them!

He bolted into an octagonal room. Frosty space twinkled through the circling windowpanes. Her pale hand caught his shoulder and pushed him away to slam the security door shut. They were locked in this techno-chamber of glass and metal.

He looked at her face and his panic rose again, she was hunched over and holding her chest as if to contain her wheezing lungs. Her eyelashes flitted and she looked up at him. "You first."

"No, I won't leave you!" His voice was dark and focused, fifty years younger maybe, but not lacking any of his seriousness. It was not the professor's voice. "We go together."

Her every breath was a pain. "We … fit… too small…"

"I won't go until you're safe!"

A hammering behind him; his ears twitched atop his head though they should have been on the sides of his skull. He spun to face the door, dented and black in its center. Goodness, what sort of artillery pieces had they brought?

"Get the pod ready," he ordered. He could already hear her shuffle for the controls. His vision dropped as he moved into a battle stance, edging away from the door as their weapons mashed it out of shape. Her voice. "It's done!"

Explosion. The door burst before his eyes; smoke, silhouettes and laser sights sweeping through the entrance.

"There they are!"

"It's the creature!"

"Shoot it! Open fire!"

"NO!!"

The last voice was hers, and he had never heard such mortal terror escape her lips. She screamed as red light overwhelmed his eyes and gunshots popped the air like cracks of lighting. Her voice was all he could think of.

He thought no longer. He acted. With a spring of his legs and a flick of his toes he was airborne. His hands went over his head and his black, furry stomach came to his vision as he curled. He felt collision and a grunt and he was suddenly rebounding into the air. He narrowed in on the next calls, the next body of heat and pushed himself through the air on a jet of nitro-skates. He ducked and rammed three more men with his body curled like a cannonball and landed perfectly, observing the soldiers he'd incapacitated.

"You filthy beast…."

One was still conscious. He turned and saw the man lift his head and his arm off the floor, pistol drawing a clear shot.

He flinched. All his speed and power and he flinched at the sight of the gun. The bullet fired like blow dart, spinning through the air towards his line of sight.

"SHADOW!!"

He heard her slam the button with all her strength and he watched the glass canopy whiz down around him. The bullet ricocheted against material built to stand up to the inferno of atmospheric re-entry. His hands moved away from his eyes and groped his strange shielding. "What?"

Five more bullets unloaded in desperate fury. Four clanged against his transparent armor, startling him badly. The fifth was a bad shot – perhaps the shooter's injuries finally got the better of him – and went clear past the side of the capsule so that he, ducking his head to the side, could watch it fly past his nose and through the air and out towards the inky blackness of space; blocked by metal, reinforced windows and the blouse of a wide-eyed angel of Heaven.

Her eyes shot open. Her bent posture jerked straight and she staggered back. She sucked in a great rush of air like a newborn breathing its first. She did not fall. She had been weak her entire life but she suddenly had the strength to stand.

Perhaps it was shock, the denial that let her endure, for she looked at her chest with a slow and hazy confusion, as if rising from sleep in the early morning. When she finally reached up and dipped a hand into the dark stain on her blouse, her lips let out a frightened gasp, as if she had woken from a terrible dream. Her fingertips trembled. Her eyes widened with the terror of knowledge. Her whole frame gave a quiver and a single tear ran down her cheek as she looked into his eyes, seeking the reassurance of her greatest friend that things were not as she imagined. That this was not happening.

His face only mirrored her terror.

She fell. Collapsed on the control terminal, eyes lolling into her skull, stain running down her dress. He could not hold it any longer. He screamed.

"MARIA!"

He ran at the tube separating them. He pounded his fists and slammed his forehead at the glass; helpless to break it despite the power he had only just demonstrated. "Maria…" he whimpered.

A breath went through her lips, her perfect, pale lips. Her eyes flitted and opened; observing him with the deep sapphires had brought a thousand smiles to his glad face. He could only feel tears as she watched him now.

Her hand stirred and pushed, digging into the console and prying her body away. Her hair fell down to her face in clumps; she tried to brush away the sweaty bangs but she winced in mortal anguish and threw the hand to her chest, to press against the pain. She sobbed as she pushed herself to stand, hip propping her body against the panel, face terrorized and blanching as life dripped from her wound.

She stood though. It was as if all her life's strength had been saved for this moment, and she remained strong enough for one last thing. Her free hand brushed across the buttons, searching for the right one.

He banged the capsule thrice more and threw his body against his prison walls, tears running down the glass. He pushed his hands, he so wanted to touch her face one last time, to hold her hand and comfort her. He was trapped.

"Maria…"

Her fingers moved lower until they fumbled around a great button, and she fastened her palm around this. Her eyes locked his own, and as her body trembled and threatened to fall, she breathed his name.

"Shadow…"

"Maria, don't leave me! Don't…"

"Shadow… you have… to … go," the wind rushed out of her lungs. She glanced with torturous exertion to the windows and the blue planet below. "Go … to… the people," she spoke with shuddered breath. "Promise me … for me… you'll… avenge… me…"

Tears burned his eyes; it was as if every word were being written on the essence of his soul. _Vengeance_. "Maria…"

She cried in pain, and stared up at the Heavens, pleading against this great burden she had received. He pleaded with her.

She looked into his eyes one last time and smiled through her pain. "Sayonara… Shadow the Hedgehog…."

Like a broken doll, her body collapsed, mashing her full weight into the button. Then there was space and the black night of death all around him and fire burning at his feet and a great scream into the void.

"MARIA!!"

* * *

Once more, he carried her name back to reality. Once more, he struggled to control himself – they would sedate him if the screaming kept them from sleep. His eyes jumped to the door. Ears strained to listen … no, no one tonight. For now, he was safe to give in and to cry.

What kind of Monster was he that he could conjure up the unwitnessed death of his beloved granddaughter from mere imagination? Or to embellish her final moments with such pain, such long and torturous agony?

Had it been quick? Had she suffered much? He prayed nights on end to the cruel God he had forsaken that it had been quick.

Could he have saved her?

The scenarios had grown into the hundreds. There was death taxed to his soul and he would never be free of it. It was everywhere: it misted about, _clung_ to him like rank moisture, it _contaminated_ him, it _grew_ into his mind like a fungus. He could not get it off. It wouldn't cut or tear or burn the least – it just remained, like a black spot in his vision, torturing him to the end.

_No_ he thought bitterly. _Not I alone_. His fists clenched in wrath.

_They_ were the Monsters, that plague of humanity. They were the ones who had ended her life, and the lives all others. Across his cot, scrawled in chalk they allowed him out of pity, was the list of lives claimed when those fools raided the ARK five years ago. The list ran ceiling to floor in two rows, the letters growing scribbled and chaotic as they neared the end.

What else were they but vicious beasts? What else but wild animals, driven by insanity, could permit the end of a child as perfect and pure as Maria? Her life had been a long, limiting sickness which found dawn briefly with the climax of the Immortality Project, only to dim into nothing because of some meddling bureaucrats and war-mongrels who wanted death swifter than the winds, and a trigger-happy grunt who'd been ordered to kill all who resisted.

It was up to him to rectify things. Project Shadow … he should have seen what a lost cause it had been from the start. Health and happiness … how far away he had been from the natural order of things. It all had to end. If not by his own hands, then by the safeguards he had schemed at for years, and which he was bringing to a close tonight.

He calmed his breathing, and thought carefully over what he had just saw, what he had just remembered. Yes, it would do. It was a horrible thing to say,but the visions would work. Bad enough he had made the thing, watched it again and again, worse that he found himself growing _jaded_ to the sights, growing accustomed to that dead face and wondering if there wasn't anything more gruesome he could add.

He heaved an easy sigh, knowing he would never need to look upon that scene again. It would work. He selected another memory, one that compensated immensely for the suffering of his granddaughter's murder.

A flash of light and he was in a laboratory, looking at himself: not younger, but healthier and stronger and waiting for a printer to eek out a long list.

_What are you doing, Professor?_ he asked in his second voice. The Gerald Robotnik in his vision startled and looked him in the eyes.

_How did you sneak in?_ He cut the professor off with the toss of a green bauble. A knowing smile came to the good doctor. _Ah. Practicing, I see._

_Always,_ he smiled, gripping the emerald tight and uttering the magic words that made time and space his servants. He teleported, he froze the universe and walked about unchained from the tick of clocks. He summoned bolts of lighting above his head and escaped with a flash before they could strike. The Professor gave a little clap at the demonstration.

_What's this you're working on, Professor?_ he asked, moving towards the scroll of printed text and figures.

_Planning for the future,_ Gerald replied cryptically, giving a great smile. _I'm creating a new emergency procedure for the colony: in the event of some great disaster – let's say something from the viral lab breaks open, or if there's a coolant leak – the computers respond by taking command of all systems. All sectors are triple-sealed to prevent any infectious spread, unnecessary systems are locked off and the engines activate to take us down to Earth for repair and rescue._

_Oh,_ he replied, quite startled by the gravity of the situation.

_Here,_ said the professor, tearing loose the printout and handing it to his gloved paw. _This is the program in its entirety. Read it over; tell me what you think. _

He skimmed it over in several seconds. _Read it again,_ the professor urged. _This is serious stuff, boy._ He read again, paying focus to the graphs and diagrams that showed the colony's projected energy levels or re-entry path. _Oh come now, scolded the professor, read it over carefully. Tell me if you can find the mistake I made._

He understood the challenge, and so set himself to the task with all his focus. He read every last line of code, every last diagram that would come to decorate the walls of Gerald Robotnik's prison cell and when he was done, he read it again, mentally playing out how every statement would work to adjust the ARK and its systems. He read it thrice to be sure the error appeared again, and confirmed his suspicions.

_This line, right here,_ he pointed. _It's all wrong, this part about energy requirements. To move something like the ARK out of its orbit … That would require the energy equivalent of at least two chaos emeralds, and no more than three. _he stopped to grab an idle pen and scrawl on the back of the sheet, _accelerating the ARK for such a time,_ he finished his equations, _the colony would gain enough momentum to … well … it would kill everything on the planet!_

But here, you've entered such energy prerequisites that we would need all seven! Providing you ever found them all, that alone would be overkill, but you've gone on and programmed the thrusters to burn too long.

Why, with that power,

The professor's eyebrows flew up above his glasses. _Oh! … Well, I was hoping you'd catch the spelling errors up … here, but … My goodness! Shadow, you may have saved a lot of lives, do you know that?_

The memory faded and as he returned to Prison Island, the modest blush that had been tainting his cheeks transformed into a hoarse cackle.

* * *


	2. Emissary of Darkness

Vengeance. 

He cringed over the one faux-pause in the order of things. Maria never could have even thought such bitterness. It was a one slip, a one out-of-character moment. 

"She would want them to be happy," he thought, lapsing into imagination of his granddaughter's true last moments. 

"To be happy. Just the smallest chance," he sighed. And as he dreamed, data piled on the computer screen. The Professor's subconscious disappeared when he hit the clear command, but not before automated sub-routines had snatched a copy, tucking it away in a neat little corner should it ever be needed. 

**

||||||||||

**

Gerald had to press close his nostrils and flatten his nose as Cliffs and half-a-dozen guards escorted him down to the medical center. He panicked with thoughts of infection and defilement, which he channeled into his mutterings and cursing. The long corridors reminded him of his former workplace and home, so he repeated the same outrages he had unleashed when such military grunts first escorted him off the ARK. The fool Edward responded brilliantly, guiding him by the hand and patting his shoulder in an act of comforting pity. 

"There, there, Gerald," he would smile condescendingly. "Just keep walking; we'll be with Shadow soon. … That's it … good, good." And all the time Gerald shuddered at his touch. 

Two guards moved to sentry duty at the swinging doors to the hospital wing. If only all entryways opened as easily as these, Gerald sighed. They moved through the corridors to the extended care unit, where they left the four remaining guards at the entrance 

The medical wing was very much like the Starlight City _Health Sciences Center_, Gerald reflected. Same long rooms divided by curtain-encircled beds, same cool hum of air conditioning and sterile floors. It was so quiet; the patients must have been asleep. He hoped she was awake; he so wanted to talk with her again, see her smile again… 

Cliffs stopped at a corner-side bed, curtains drawn. "Here we are, Gerald." 

"Thank you, Edward," he sighed. "I really appreciate this. Could … Would it be too much if I asked you to wait outside?" 

A laugh. "Gerald, it would drive me mad to miss this. You know how much these sessions fascinate me…" 

"Fascinate!" Gerald snapped in a reserved voice. The room had a powerful impression with its silence; it was something holy, like a church, and made him whisper in a hiss. "You sick animal! Is there something entertaining about this? About death and sickness?" 

He would not give Cliffs a chance to interrupt him. "Is she just another lab mouse to you, Cliffs; just another subject to test your bullets and bombs? Hmm? Or are you just ecstatic to see me cry, to watch me loose the woman you couldn't have!" 

Edward had his face twisted up in confusion. "Gerald, what are you…" Then his face unscrewed itself and his eyes pleaded with the light fixtures. "Gerald, this really isn't necessary; you can stop pretending." 

"Pretend!" he raged, remembering to keep his fury silent in respect of the ill. "I love Sasha!" 

"Stop it, Gerald," Cliffs sighed wearily. "I'm getting tired of playing babysitter." 

"Oh you ru…" Gerald gave up on his threats; there was nothing he could do about this death-worshiping weapons maker. With a sneer he turned away from Cliffs; Sasha's bed was second from the end; he moved lightly and slowly pulled back the curtain. He gasped. The bed was empty. 

Down the other end of the hallway, the doors opened and a man in green walked through, keeping one hand on the entrance. "You! What's that noise about?" 

Gerald ignored the soldier. He threw off the bed's blankets but found no body. Impossible! He'd been sure … no, wait, she must have been on the other half of the room. 

Cliffs grabbed his shoulder before he could move. He squirmed and ordered to be let go, but Edward had strength greater than his. "Nothing, sir," Cliffs reported. "The Professor is just a little excited – nothing serious." The soldier's face gave no response. He turned and let the door shut after him. 

The grip around his shoulder released and Gerald spun around, intending to unleash a storm on his young and disrespectful colleague. But it was not Edward that held him down. It was an older man, tall like Edward but with wild, black hair beginning to gray and a face that showed the lines of age. Who was this? 

The tall man looked behind him and gave an excited little pant. "Whew! My apologies, Gerald; I never thought they would be eavesdropping. Well done. … I think they'll leave us be, now." 

His mouth dropped and he looked about the room. The man knew his name! Was he visiting as well? The hall was awful quiet, as if there were no patients. Why, it was just as unused as the medical wing on Prison Island! 

"Cliffs? …" 

"Yes, what is it?" 

So it was. "You've gotten old." 

Edward just cracked a grin and slapped him on the back. "Old is such an ugly word, Gerald. Now, distinguished; there's a title to be proud of. Ripened, perhaps. But I'll entertain your ears later; we need to finish this." 

Yes. Prison Island. Cliffs. The Plan. "Yes, let's," he nodded, moving out of Cliffs revolting touch. 

Behind the last curtain was a bed with white blankets. Around it were white machines giving off a steady hum of fans and beeping in intervals. Leading out of the computer boxes and fluid sacks were hoses and tubes and intravenous cables, all of them guided on to the white bed where they laid, and sometimes sunk into, the still body of a black anthropomorph. 

"Shadow," purred Gerald in a soft voice of admiration. He raised his hand, which wavered in the air, looking for a spot free of wires, and touched the soft forehead of midnight fur, stroking the crest of red that highlighted his ticklish spines. To the gesture of affection, Shadow made no response; he only continued his rhythmic breathing and rested – his gentle, round eyes in a peaceful sleep. 

A coma. A five-year coma. It hadn't been impossible to convince the officials; they were well aware of Gerald's late sister, whom family had cared for seven years before releasing her spirit from life-support. The military linchpins suspected that this creature was somehow connected to the Immortality Project, though what this hedgehog truly was or whether the experiments were successful was vague as mist. They kept him here, and now he was long forgotten to even the oldest supervisors of the ARK prisoners. The new staff only knew that this was a casualty of the raid and that Robotnik and Cliffs visited every several months to pay their respects. 

"So peaceful," Gerald sighed, looking into the creature's calm and untroubled face. Did he dream? He knew there was some basic form of brain activity running a screen-saver – Shadow was most likely thinking about colours or sounds, or perhaps reviewing the basic functions such as walking or eating that had already been installed. But dreams? Doubtful, because there were no memories, no experiences for the subconscious to draw upon. This unit was a blank. They'd worked with his older brother for maybe two months on the ARK, making startling advances with chaos energy manipulation, but that experiment and the second copy had been exterminated in the raid. 

All his hopes hinged on this little thing: an animal half his size who had never before seen the light of day. 

Gerald motioned at Cliffs, who drew the curtains around the bed while he peeled open his organic computer. Edward was supposed to play sentry while his secret was exposed, but the physicist was always too amazed by Gerald's smuggled lifeline to concentrate fully on the activity of the guards. But no matter, he had become fast at the operation and this would be the last time. 

He prodded a few soft buttons on the lengthy keypad and the device began to warm against his forearm. After one minute of dangerous vulnerability, all the data he wanted was transferred, and he could take his fingernails to the thin, white stick of memory that pulled out of a slot on the side. With the self-replicating magic of biologicals, he was ensured a limitless supply of these disks, given the time needed for regeneration. 

The data wafer went to Cliffs, who marveled at its brilliance, while Gerald folded over his false skin. Now there was one last part: underneath the bed mattress was a sharpened piece of metal – they had pulled out one of the springs from the adjacent bed and uncoiled the length enough to make a pointed hook. Gerald took the makeshift scalpel to Shadow's left shoulder, where below his fur laid the waning signs of a scar, and reopened the wound. 

"Towel, Towel!" he hissed as clear fluid seeped out and threatened to stain the bed. Cliffs bounced over to his side, where he was trying to catch all the sticky liquid in his palm. "Right, right, ahhh…" Cliffs looked about and grabbed Gerald's lab coat, which he used to dab off the bleeding. 

Gerald gave him a scowl. 

After the initial fluid was all out, Shadow's wound became obviously dry. Gerald could pull the incision wide and find a delicate, pink tissue underneath – slightly slimy, but free of ruptured veins. In the middle of the internal flesh was a black cavity: the input port. 

His mouth dried up now that he could see how close he was. "Give it to me," Gerald demanded in a sharp rasp. Cliffs toddled over far too slowly and offered the vital component with a flourish. Arrogant Insect. … 

Gerald was so excited that his hands were shaking. Good Lord! He nearly dropped it! He had to calm down, work carefully. With thumb and index finger prying the skin apart, Gerald took his second hand and moved the rectangular disk with a surgeon's precision. His gnarled fingers gave a tremor as he worked, and he feared his overgrown nails might tap the case too hard and crack the thing. 

"Steady now," Cliffs coached him on. "No worries, its no difficulty…" Finally the old man with the crumbling hands of a witch reached his mark and the data wafer dropped halfway in the receiving slot. Gerald gave a broken cackle and used his yellow fingernail to push the thing in. 

Professor Robotnik ascended from his hunched position. He raised himself high and confronted his assistant with coal-black glasses gleaming mad delight. "It's done," he rasped. 

Cliffs had known this was the final session. Cliffs had known Robotnik was too cautious for any errors. And yet he still had to blurt back and check. "It's done?" 

Robotnik grinned his teeth, white as the devil's charming smile. "It's done. Shadow is complete." 

And suddenly they broke into laughter and whoops of joy! Cliffs grabbed the shorter man and embraced him, and for once, Robotnik found the strength to endure his pestilent species and held the fool close to his heart. 

"So he knows everything?" Cliffs double-checked once their ecstasy had run its course. "The whole truth?" 

"Everything down to the last casualty," Robotnik confirmed. "They will have to believe him." 

"And this one is capable of reaching the ARK?" Edward asked. "To find the security tapes if need be?" 

There, Robotnik fumbled. "Well…" He coughed in discomfort. "That is, provided he has the energy means for a teleport." 

"Oh … of course. But, oh, what does it matter! Gerald, he's complete! Our voice from beyond the grave; a prophet to set the ignorant masses straight! Gerald, this is our savior!" 

"Yes," Robotnik hissed. "Yes, we'll be avenged for everything those ungrateful humans have done…" 

"Ooh, how dark," Edward teased. "I think of it more as education: this is our Second Renaissance! Think of all the lies and deceit we'll expose! Think of the reform this could bring! The Revolution!" 

"It will end everything wrong," Robotnik agreed. 

Cliffs glanced at the clock hanging above the doorframe. "My, we've finished early!" He seemed ready to add more, but a sudden fit of proud laughter overtook the man. 

"We actually did it!" he grinned once he had settled down. "We actually kept under their noses all this time!" He paused to chuckle some more and to wipe his spectacles on his coat. "Then again, it really was no great feat. Gerald, these apes think the Periodic Table is something you eat from! I'm not surprised we've fooled them this long." 

Robotnik simply smiled at the grand irony only he understood. 

"By the way, that was a marvelous performance you did back there." 

"What? What are you babbling on about?" 

"Oh, don't be modest," Cliffs grinned. "The hospital? Sasha? Gerald, for once you fooled me entirely! It was such a gradual shift, and you didn't jump scenes: you stuck with it, as if you really were back at Starlight. I think that's the way these people really act … Yes, it has to be a casual, almost natural slip." 

Robotnik grew cold. "I have to go," he told the physicist. 

"Go?" Cliffs exclaimed. "Gerald, we've not been here twenty minutes; they'll be suspicious if we leave now!" 

"Suspicious if you leave," he fired back. "I'm just the doddering old fool who's loosing his mind!" And he turned and stomped for the door. His haggard voice echoed through the hall, yelling at the guards to get out of his way. 

Edward Cliffs stared at the doorway waiting for a remark that his great mind could not invoke. When it was clear Gerald would not be dragged back in, he let out a frustrated puff of air and fell into a bedside seat. 

"Wonderful," he griped to the resting Shadow. "Stuck here for who-knows how long with _you_." His hand ruffled through his tangled hair and his elbow propped up against the armrest. "Well, how long should I wait and observe how you're not going to wake up? Two hours? Three?" 

The hedgehog remained as he was. Even now the data stick was dissolving into his bloodstream, becoming microscopic bits of information that would travel all the way to the creature's brain, stimulating and bridging neurons to the formation of memory. Edward wondered a moment whether there really wasn't a way to "activate" Shadow short of the lightning crack of chaos energy. … Maybe he could find the confiscated stash of chaos drives, waken the agent now and have a partner to help him escape? 

Yes, escape – and become the Herald of Truth himself! Well, now that this last resort was ready, he had time to spare on that. "Loose air vent…" he muttered to himself, stroking his chin in an intellectual manner. "Pity I'm not fast as you're hypothesized," he sighed, giving the creature an envious look over. 

Edward frowned. He sat tall in his chair and looked over the sleeping Shadow. He looked away and his face furrowed with a thorough puzzlement. He leaned up from his seat to get a better look at the monitors, beeping off the creature's vital stats, then – slowly – sat back down, no less relieved by the uniform graphs, identical to everything he had seen first approaching the bedside. 

Through their spectacles, Edward's eyes dropped back to the creature. Nothing of his mannerisms had changed; he was still lying there like a sleeping newborn: open palms at his sides, nose raised at the ceiling lights, blankets rising up with every calm, restful intake of air. So why did the thing seem so … different? 

Edward tapped his upper lip as he applied his vast mind to the problem. There was something there … something he hadn't seen before Gerald's withered hands had finished the last implant. What was it? 

And then he was struck, like a clock on the hour, with realization: where once had rested a face so soft and so pure was something else. The change was subtle: his eyes were raised, pointed perhaps, to a small degree; his mouth seemed to contract slightly, as if biting, and all over his face, Shadow seemed to have grown hard, like a pool of water frozen over. 

Why, sitting up and stepping back so to gain a fuller view … one might say there was an air of _cruelty_ overwhelming that fresh face… 

**

||||||||||

**

Robotnik stormed away at a pace that forced his guards to liven their mechanical step. Morbid as it sounded, he wanted to be back in his cell, alone. Away from that idiot Cliffs and the creature that had driven him to this state! 

He pretended, he still did, that every action was deliberate; that every step into the past was a thespian's illusion – a ruse to keep attention away from his mad scribbling and nightly screaming. But in his mind, it was becoming all to clear that he was slowly beginning to live the lie he had carried out nearly five years. 

Shadow, that wretched beast! Even his flesh and blood had turned against him, growing strong in purpose and memory while feeding on his Creator's own life! No writer knew their characters as he knew Shadow; every sleepless night was a session of planning and compiling flashes of memory worth sixteen years! From the dawn of life in the incubation tank, to the visit to the medical wing and the first glimpse of that silken-haired angel, all the way to her tragic end; no typewriting twit could imagine what it was to _suffer_ out every injury their creation knew; to see everything from the eyes of the created order and let the terror and hatred infect their mind! 

He sometimes woke with a sweat and tried to remember who he was: The creator? The creation? Or was he just a webwork of memory sown together by the unifying purpose of vengeance, the double-edged sword that consumed its wielder? 

"Good afternoon, Gerald." 

It was Howards. Robotnik hissed out a curse. "Traitor! You told them, didn't you? You've ruined everything! They think the reptile is a menace, a danger!" 

"Feeling all right, Professor?" 

Memories surfaced: meetings with military brass. Questions. Concerns. Accusations. Threats. "All right? They already want to turn my project into some super-soldier program, and now you've convinced them The Prototype is "feral"! You imbecilic ass!" He lunged. 

Strong arms seized his own, tearing him from Howard's collar and pinning him between two guards. Guards? No, stop! Stop! Prison Island; this was Prison Island. He had to remember! "Prison Island!" he gasped. 

The Rat seemed only to enjoy this display of crazed outrage. "I see you've finished your visitation with Shadow," the chryogenist observed smugly. "I _do_ hope your little pet is well. Research only goes so far on non-humanoid animals." 

Howards gave another dark smile and spun away, leaving a dumbfounded Professor to be dragged kicking and screaming down the long gray corridors. 

**

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**

Knowledge made him surrender quickly, and when they threw him in the cell, Robotnik just laid on the floor, his eyes open wide and his lips trembling. "No," he hissed, trying to convince himself, "No… no, he wouldn't … no, no, no…" 

A new voice: meek and scared. "Could he?" 

Yes he could. He could, and he would if the time came. 

Robotnik tore the air with fits of swearing. NO! No, no, no, this could not happen! He could not allow it; not now, not when the creature was finally complete! 

He had every confidence in Shadow – no question. His creation would be unrelenting in purpose – driven by the same purpose of the creator – and had the blessing of eternal life. Immortal: too much robotic to succumb to disease or starvation and far too real and regenerative for the deterioration of old age to even touch him. Immortal. 

_BUT_, immoral _provided_ that he avoided the unnatural deaths Man had created. Shoot him, bludgeon him and you might rip one of the vital organs that sustained him. And Robotnik saw the future falling to pieces under the cut of a surgeon's scalpel. 

Something had to be done. Some other contingency. Not he, not now, with a fading mind. Cliffs was a slim hope to escape and reveal truth. Who else, if not Shadow? Who would take up this task? 

_Fool_, his mind hissed back, _there can be no one but Shadow, for this is his purpose!_

Then it was settled, he answered back to the insanity. Shadow would replace Shadow. Robotnik dived to the corner where he kept his possessions. The military allowed all of their pawns a cell computer and everyone was returned his or her old data files and notebooks from the ARK so that, even during nightly confinement, weapons research might continue. Gerald had put this foolish gift to better uses – he composed a diary chronicling the deception of five years past and the hope of Shadow unleashed. 

The journals were all in codes of varying difficulty, so that only the dedicated would know his greatest secrets. These next entries, he reflected, would need triple-encryption – yes, by then his reader would be immersed in the truth and obey his every instruction. He began to type. 

  
_Congratulations, dear reader. _

To have made your way this far demonstrates an intellect far removed from the ignorant ordinary; a brilliance devoted to the order and purity of science. 

To read this also means that something has gone horribly wrong, some unforeseen variable I could not purge and that Shadow has failed. It means that I truly do need your help. 

I have told you the story of my life, of my research and I have told you the truth of the Space Colony A.R.K. Now that you have demonstrated your devotion to my work and your own thirst for knowledge, I am about to reveal my true secrets. 

I will tell you the secrets of life. Of the Ultimate Life. 

  
Gerald shuddered and massaged his worn fingers. This would be his greatest risk, to expose everything to some ghost of the future. What if his captors made the discovery? What then? He bit his lips, looking for the words that would appeal to conscience and duty. His hands dived to the keyboard. 

  
_Know here that life and purpose are forever intertwined and that the Force of Perfection is fit for none but the greatest of tasks. _

Finish my work, dear reader. If not the earth, then finish the tyranny that brought me to this end. Finish the injustice of this world. Project Shadow is the means. Finish my work. 

I have every faith in your success. 

  
Robotnik opened a new file and began typing DNA sequences… 

**

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**


	3. II: Flight of the Thief

_I know how to hurt,   
I know how to heal. _

I know what to show,   
And what to conceal. 

I know when to talk,   
And I know when to touch. 

No-one ever died from wanting too much... 

--"The World Is Not Enough". Lyrics by Don Black. 

**

  
||||||||||

**

  
On the table were twelve flat-screen monitors. On the screens were twelve of the highest-ranking generals and commanders of G.U.N. On their shadowy faces were scowls. 

Before all the equipment, which spread a tangle of cables around the empty room like tree roots was a single tiny camera mounted on a tripod. The prosecutor – a grim faced soldier born to match his harsh, blue uniform – paced before the lens, leafing through a file as he prepared his statement. 

"2208 hundred hours: hull breach was reported and an intruder detected entering the underground facility." His eyes slid down the page. "2215 hours: Level 7 security is breached. Scorpion Legion's BX-3 Heavy-Assault Walker, codename "_Hotshot_" is dispatched to eliminate intruder. 2217 hours: _Hotshot_ reports that the shadow creature had been liberated and exhibiting hostile behavior. All communications with walker pilot lost." 

He closed the booklet, folded back his hands and stood at crisp attention before the camera. "Security tapes confirmed the intruder as The Doctor. Stealth Hoverpods were dispatched and confirmed a general area of retreat to be the Samo Desert. The creature was not detected. 

"2347 hours: G.U.N. high-command commissions a reconnaissance mission to perform preliminary exploration before risking further casualties in combat. Mission objective was to locate and infiltrate the terrorist outpost within the Samo Desert and uncover all known information regarding Project Shadow and The Doctor's interest in the research. G.U.N. Intelligence Division dispatched Espionage Agent Ninety-One. 

"The operation was to be primarily covert, but if deemed necessary, Agent was instructed to pose as a mercenary in effort to access the inner terrorist network." He went to his notes again and hummed – something had caught his attention. "One of four chaos emeralds held in G.U.N. security was allotted as a bargaining tool." 

The prosecutor returned the folder behind his back and stepped out of camera range. "Things didn't work quite as planned, did it, Ninety-One?" 

Rouge the Bat looked up from her nails and gave the camera a bored stare. _They most certainly did not._

The room was long and empty besides the video-link equipment. Not much light either, but though lacking in colour, Rouge picked up everything in sharp contrast. A technician behind all the staring monitors; her inquisitor to her right; a door to her far left flanked by half-a-dozen armored guards and two GUN-Hunters. Even through the reinforced glass behind, her sensitive ears heard the putter of armed Hoverpods. My, they certainly were being careful… 

She raised her hands and let her 'jewelry' chains rattle. "Mind if we loose the cuffs, Commander?" she smiled sweetly, offering the manacles for removal. "Business before pleasure, after all." 

One of the generals on screen spoke up. "Commander, I was informed this was a debriefing exercise. Would you explain the reasoning behind your less than civil treatment of this agent?" 

Rouge flashed a sexy smile at her advocate. 

The Commander, however, was hardly intimidated. "I realize my methods are unorthodox, Sir – illegal, perhaps – but I would ask the officers of this council to accept these … precautions as a necessary procedure, considering the sudden reclusive nature of Agent 91." 

The bat rolled her eyes. "Officers of the council," she began, parroting his rigid protocol, "perhaps the Commander has failed to inform, but as a field agent, my work is quite dangerous." The bat crossed her shackled legs and took an uppity pose. "Look, everyone likes their privacy – even Robotnik. And when you send someone like me to snoop on them, and they figure out who you really are, you can't expect they'll just let you fly off without a thought." 

"And that is your defense?" 

Rouge pointed her nose right up at the Commander's face and spoke with all manner of seriousness. "Robotnik's obsessive – He won't stop until I'm dead." Then she leaned back, stretched her wings and arched her body in a big yawn. "I guess I should know," she said indifferently. 

He nodded back. "Yes, you must have quite some insight, given your recent work with The Terrorist." 

Rouge huffed out her disgust. Everyone, even G.U.N. said his name in Italics: _Him_, or _The Terrorist_, or _The Mastermind Behind The Robot-Related Attacks_. All the plebs knew him as _The Doctor_. Oooh, how scary... It was fear, she thought sneeringly, and she was proud to be above such childish whimpering. 

But Rouge had come to realize that it was not just fear of a man – It was fear of a name, and of a family. She knew now that Robotnik's blood ties were corporal, and that history as she'd learned through the news and in school was a lie. _The Doctor_ was a threat that had to be denied and silenced; not only for the danger he created, but also for the mistakes of the past he brought to light. 

The cold partaker of those evils fifty years ago went on addressing her and the monitors. 

"The interpretation of your absence is acknowledged, Ninety-One. However, I wish to submit another explanation." 

Rouge did not let any worry surface. 

"Officers of the council, with your approval, I would put forward a video recording for your consideration." The technician was already preparing the feed as the Generals gave their authorization. 

The Commander stepped behind her with a grim smile. "Care to watch?" A remote control surfaced in his hand, and with a click, each of the twelve monitors split, dividing the transmission between its General and the new evidence. 

"This is an interview conducted several weeks ago by myself with one of the survivors of Prison Island," he announced for the officers. 

The twelve half-screens resolved into a white hospital setting. A young man stared at Rouge from a bed – a brace around his neck and fresh stitching over his raw, ruined face. He was weary and defeated. A Commander several weeks younger focused the camera and asked the man for his name and rank. 

The patient forced his mouth to speak. "Private Dean Bellows. Armed Walker Corp. Mantis Legion, sir." His voice still carried the cold maturity of the armed forces, despite the injuries hindering his speech. 

The Commander fired into questioning immediately. "You were stationed on Prison Island, were you not, Dean?" 

"Yes sir." 

"So you were on duty during the first attack and the subsequent?" 

"Yes sir." 

"Can you tell me, Dean, where you were stationed during the second terrorist assault?" 

"Internal Security, sir. I was protecting the compound interior, sir." 

"Your injuries, Dean. You sustained them in action?" 

"Yes sir. My Walker crashed, sir." 

The Commander made a sympathetic grunt. "Dean, I have here your medical history – it says here that … well, apparently your injuries were quite extensive." The voice casually listed off the damage. "Broken nose, fractures, … multiple facial lacerations …… You broke three vertebrae?" 

The young pilot looked away, hurt. "Yes sir," he said painfully. 

"You won't walk again, will you, Dean?" 

A deep breath – to keep back some powerful emotion. "… No sir." 

Rouge rolled her eyes and turned back to her nails. 

"Dean, I understand this is hard – you've suffered much – but I need you to stay with me. … Can you do that Dean? … Good. I only have a few more questions. … Now, according to what transmissions we could salvage, you were sent to deal with an internal breach, were you not?" 

"Yes sir. I was dispatched to engage an intruder detected within the Security Hall." 

Rouge darted away from her nails with wide eyes. _Oh … Shit … _

"And so you engaged The Doctor?" 

"No sir, I did not." 

Rouge forced her heavy eyelashes down. She slowed her breathing. Casually, she slipped her nail into the handcuff springs, testing… 

"You did not?" the Commander repeated with mock surprise. "Well then, you must have engaged his accomplice – the black, anthropomorphic creature?" 

"No sir, I did not." 

Both her wrists and ankles were snared, and a long chain linked the cuffs. It was not above her strength… 

"A robot then – one of The Doctor's combat machines?" 

"No sir, the intruder was not a robot, sir." 

But what next? The GUN-Hunters were activated… The windows were strengthened glass… 

"Well then," the Commander said after another break. "Can you describe the intruder?" 

She was trapped. 

"Can you describe your assailant, Dean?" 

The young man's face clenched and his eyes narrowed and stared straight into the camera. And Rouge recognized those same eyes, glaring at her from underneath a flight-helmet, just before she kicked through his cockpit's canopy and sent a sharpened boot through his face. 

"Yes sir, I can." 

_Shit, shit, shit…_

The twelve faces transmitting live from undisclosed locations were no longer scowling – they were in restrained shock. Not even the highest echelon of military command and discipline could restrain their eyes from widening or their hunched forms from shuffling and muttering to one another as the young soldier gave a flawless description of Espionage Agent 91. 

In the commotion, Rouge gave her chains a last, desperate rattle. No use – back to talk, at least in here... The Commander strolled into camera range and into her face. 

"You reported that The Doctor left you aboard the ARK." 

Truthfully, she was starting to worry, but Rouge simply took her emotions and fueled them into a drama. "I didn't want to do it!" she blurted. "I – I had to – He would have killed me if I didn't!" 

"And you felt no provocation to warn Prison Island beforehand – so they might prepare for your little raid?" 

She dropped her hands and gave an indignant gasp for the cameras. "Don't you think that was the first thing on my mind? Look, he never left me alone! I couldn't get a chance to report…" 

"Not even when you were on the Island – while the Doctor was busy preparing you a 'distraction'?" 

"He had that Shadow freak following me; that Psycho wouldn't leave me alone!" 

"Well then, you must have much more to report regarding Project Shadow, given all your intimate time together." 

Rouge snarled. "Maybe if you didn't have your goons drug me and chain me up like a criminal, I'd have time to write you a proper report! I told you everything I could find out!" 

"_Really_? Everything you could possibly uncover. My, my, my – you truly must have been tightly cornered." He flipped through his folder and pulled out the recorded dialogue of previous interrogations. 

"Let's see here … confirmation of chaos energy manipulation. … "Chaos Control", "Chaos Spear", "Super Shadow" … some notes about a questionable psychology … Shadow is obsessed, Shadow is deranged, Shadow is a "head-case", Shadow dreams of little girls……" He looked at her dubiously. "Interesting." 

Rouge wondered if she could strangle the man with her chains – take him as a hostage. 

"Yet, I'm still curious, Ninety-One, was this truly the "Ultimate Lifeform", your terrorist friend…" 

"MY FRIEND! That's slander, you …" She tossed a few ugly names out along with her proper decorum. This wasn't a debriefing – this wasn't even a tribunal! She was being set up as his scapegoat! 

The Commander ignored her lost manners and carried on. "…Truly the Ultimate Lifeform theorized to possess immortality? I don't see much here regarding your primary mission … in fact, I don't see much here at all." 

The Commander strolled to her back, tapping his folder on her head as he sauntered. Rouge denied all impulses to snap his neck. The military officer signaled for his technician to use a wide-view on the camera while his fingers played with the cord of the window blinds. 

"Let's take a look at the actual results of your mission." 

The roller blinds retracted to let in the dark, cloudless skyline of Corvalis, the Capital City. Tonight was a Full Moon, or, at least it should have been. The pale disc of light shone less brightly with a good quarter of its face eaten off by the Eclipse Cannon. 

_This was all planned out_, Rouge fumed as the moonlight caught her in an accusing glow. Her wings flapped to fan her rising temper. _He even waited for the right evening to set me up!_

At the window, the Commander remained awhile, looking into the broken Moon. "Do you know what I see?" He inquired somberly. "I see lists of casualties come into my office every day. I see crates filled with the names and stats of soldiers we lost in one week. 

"I see young men and women lying as ashes on a slag mound that used to be our finest military facility. I see a robotic combat division halved; I see a military reduced by a quarter of its manpower. I see a public confidence shattered and I see a terrorist waiting on our border to strike and conquer." 

His fist slammed the glass. "And all for _this_!" He snatched a crumpled paper from his folder and thrust its crinkled lettering to the camera. The Biolizard gave a toothless snarl. 

"A monthly status report on a dead prototype whose carcass burned up on re-entry!" 

The folder flew to the ground, tossing papers to the air. Rouge suspected he'd been aiming for her. 

"Members of this council, we have sent teams up to the ARK, and it is truly a catastrophe: all computer systems aboard the colony have been wiped clean – Standard flush procedure we've observed The Doctor perform when he abandons an outpost. His Pyramid Base was similarly evacuated – and rigged with explosives. Ten good soldiers were lost exploring the station. 

"And perhaps our only hope of salvation – the Eclipse Cannon – is damaged beyond repair! With some irony, I must regretfully confess that the Colony truly is nothing more orbital slag. 

"Councilors, in summary: our reconnaissance mission has not only been a total disaster, it has left us weaker than where we started. The knowledge we possessed regarding Project Shadow: the experimental remnants aboard the ARK, on Prison Island, and within the creature – the potential benefits they presented to this organization and to our nation, are lost. What has not been incinerated is now in the sole possession of The Doctor." 

He strode about the floor a moment, and gave a final, disgusted look at Rouge. 

"Officers of this council, I propose to you that Espionage Agent Ninety-One is either notoriously incompetent, or treacherous." 

The generals fell to silent contemplation. The Commander stepped back and let the guilty take the spotlight. Rouge looked between them and slammed her boot down. 

"What is this?" she snapped. "Do you think you can just set me up – make me the bad guy? That you can put a bounty on my head when I don't show up for work every day? I did my job – and maybe I didn't do things by the book, but I got things done! I saved your lives up there when that Colony started to fall! I threw away everything," gem shards thrown to the floor rang in her ears, "and _this_ is what I get! I'm suddenly worse than Robotnik!" 

"That's enough, agent…" 

"I'll say whatever I damn please, Commander – my defense seems a bit lacking!" 

"That will be enough, Rouge!" 

The sudden sound of her name across the monitors brought her rage to a standstill. The generals waited for her to be seated. 

"This council has heard enough. Espionage Agent Ninety-One, regardless of what alliance you have or have not shared with The Doctor, the lacking results of your mission have been obvious. You have failed to provide any further insight to the Project Shadow." 

Rouge fumed. Everyone was against her. Traitors. 

"Furthermore, your actions – or your lack thereof – have contributed to the deaths of over six-thousand soldiers and civilians, the crippling of this military organization, and the desecration of a landmark shared by all nations and people of this planet. 

"We have reviewed your history with this organization, and while you are accredited for your ruthlessness and your target-fixation, your sheer _negligence_ for all others has become a detriment we can no longer afford. 

"This council has come to a verdict: Espionage Agent Ninety-One is hereby withdrawn from the Intelligence Division of the Guardians of the United Nation." 

A great weight hammered through the air and through the chained bat. 

Withdrawn. 

You didn't just leave the spy game – not when you knew the secrets and structures of the mighty G.U.N. At least, not outside of a body-bag. 

_Shit._

There was further verdict: charges of treason; talk of the execution of "A Chief Accomplice To The Terrorist"; some smidgen of public relations that would be restored when she hung from the gallows. Rouge tuned it all out. 

Because that was not going to happen. 

Her nails would fit the locks. No one had thought to touch her steel-laced footwear. Now all she wanted was the perfect moment. 

The monitors flickered out, leaving the impressive G.U.N. logo on their screens. Rouge just hung her head in misery while the guards leveled their laser sights on her and strung her manacles into the arms of the two robot foot soldiers. 

The mechanical chain gang clomped out of the room and to the freight elevator at the end of the hallway. On the top floor of the safe-house, more soldiers in swat-gear and more GUN-Hunters trailed their weapons on her, leading her to the rooftop exit with a procession of laser scopes. _All this for little ol' me?_ She grinned, comparing herself to a celebrity escorted to a gala. Her face, however, remained downward and lowly – the impression of defeat. 

And it remained that way until they took her outside, where awaited a heavy-armored helicopter, heavy-powered weaponry, and a sniggering weasel in a flowing trench coat. 

Rouge lunged at the rat, flying to the limit of her chains and snapping to the ground. The bounty hunter pulled up the brim of his shabby hat and gave her a toothy grin. 

"Hey Red," he sneered in his nasal and heavily accented drawl. "How's it hangin'?" 

Rouge spit his name across her mouth. "Fang the Sniper, you slimy piece of …" 

"WHOA!" he squeaked in his ratty voice. "Yeh gat some mouth dere, Red. Ahm jus' doin' mai civic dooty 'an helpin' out wit security 'ere." 

The robots were dragging her off the ground and toward the copter, but Rouge pulled against her chains and toward the hunter who had finally caught her. "You weasel! They aught to drag you in and gut you up! Everyone knows your Robotnik's favorite!" 

Hands in his pockets, Fang followed as they robots took her up the boarding ramp. "No wun cares about a small-timer like me anymoire, Red. Nat when tey gat teh Doc's favorite lady. By da way, get any emeralds?" 

Rouge lunged one last time, snapping her teeth at his nose. The weasel was just out of reach, but she made him squawk anyway. She thought it a small compensation for the tazers he'd used. 

Then the GUN-bots seized her and pulled her into the cargo bay with them. Three more soldiers piled in for security. The doors slammed shut. 

The rotary blades accelerated, and the armed aircraft began its lift-off, escorted through the sky by a squad of Hoverpods. Nack the Weasel held his hat to his heart and waved a mocking farewell. 

"Sayonara, Rouge teh Bat! I'll check if anywun misses ya, Red!" 

When the air currents had died down, a stern faced military commander approached the seedy looking bounty hunter. "Mai rekards clean?" the weasel inquired gruffly. 

The Commander handed over the last copy of the hunter's criminal offenses. "As per your negotiations, Sniper. You've saved this organization a good deal of money on that bounty." 

Nack nodded with half-attention as he flipped through his record, taking a semi-disturbing trip down memory lane. "An teh license?" 

A small identification card exchanged hands. "Welcome to the Hunter's Guild of the United Provinces," the Commander commended. "I think you'll find tracking state-posted bounties to be a profitable venture." 

"Until da Doc takes over you guys," the weasel added slyly. 

The Commander bowed over the half-sized anthropomorph. "Be careful what you say, bounty hunter. You have just as much potential to share her fate." 

Nack stared right up at the commander with his grinning overbite. He held the folder up for the military man's inspection, and tore it in half, in quarters, and in eighths before his face. 

"Nat anymore," he sneered, releasing the ribbons to the wind. "Ahm a new weasel." 

**

||||||||||

**


	4. Exit Rouge

GUN-Hunters had to be compacted to fit the transport helicopter, and so human guards did the work of monitoring Rouge during the flight. Two helmeted soldiers at her sides pressed her for movement and a third leaned on the opposite wall, staring at her with cold focus. Probably trying to picture her naked. 

The ex-spy conceded that she had that magazine pin-up allure, especially now that her handcuffs were looped around a bracket in the wall and she hung off her arms in a position of helpless girlieness. She glanced up to inspect her shackles – attached to her ankle-cuffs by a long chain – and the movement did not go unnoticed. 

"Sit still, bat. You're not going anywhere." 

"It's awful tight," she pouted, wriggling and brushing up against the guard to her right. "Maybe you could loosen it just an itty-little bit? I promise I'll be good…" 

A rifle butt flashed across the air and ribbed her below the knee. She winced. 

"Don't move," the dark soldier on her left commanded. Rouge tagged him as the hard-ass. He was a skinny jerk with pale skin and scraggly black hair. Sunglasses several sizes too large amplified his scowl. 

She took a hard look at her other guards. The one across the hold had a hawkish nose, slicked red hair and a laid-back, cool look. To her left… ugh: A sallow-faced pug with a droopy jaw and beady, little eyes. Over his stubby nose was a poorly concealed band-aid. 

She panned over the goons from her left to right. "Are all the infantry as ugly as you boys, or did I just get the Reject Squad?" 

The skinny thug on her left jabbed her ribs this time. "Shut up, murderer!" 

The red-haired soldier across from the tension stirred. "Hey, lag off. It's a good hour to the base – s'not like we can't have any fun." 

He turned his focus to the tied-up female. "I'd betcha you'd really like to get out of those cuffs, wouldn't cha?" He sniggered and fished something out of a vest pocket. A silver key chain spun around his finger. "Wouldn't ya, bat-girl?" 

The keys dangled in her face from the tip of his fingernail. The bat's eyes flickered and she leaned forward, pulling taut on her chains and straining her mouth to grab. 

The hand flicked away. "Whoop! Not fast enough, doll-face." The guards at her side joined in the snickering. 

He offered the keys again, hanging them off the butt of his assault rifle. Rouge played their game, moaning and snapping at the keys while the flyboys got their giggles. She wrapped her hands around her chains and pulled them tight… 

The rifle zipped forward again, jangling the key ring. "C'mon little batty; get the keys. Come on, come on girl!" 

Rouge flashed her legs out and snapped the rifle up in a scissor pinch. Out it flew from Red-Hair's grip. She swung her feet and the gun slapped him across the face. 

The others freaked. "What the…" 

Her flexible limbs whipped from side to side, slamming the remaining goons with the rifle. While they cried out and covered their faces, Rouge got to her feet. 

Hawk-Nose was rising as well. Rouge pulled on her chains for support and swung from the wall, connected her legs with his body, and then a second time. For the boys on her side she leaped and went to a mid-air split, snapping her ankle-bracelets and slamming their stomachs with steel boots. 

And all while shackled to the wall. Speaking of which, Rouge planted a high-heel into the wall and used the leverage to yank her chains free. She kicked Sunglasses again before tearing off the linking rings that had coupled her ankles cuffs to her wrists. 

"Bloody bat…" Pug-face was up and throwing punches. She blocked his left fist, his right fist. She caught his third try in her handcuffs and wrapped the chains to trap his wrist. Rouge pulled him down into a headbutt. He staggered away, clutching his forehead. 

Red-Hair and Sunglasses attacked together. The skinny one swung a wide punch that she ducked and countered with a double-fisted uppercut. Red-Hair tried a karate-chop that she nabbed on the fly. Over her shoulder he went, crashing into the ground. 

Rouge strolled over his body, planted a boot on his chest and removed the key-chain from his possession. "Awful sweet of you. This'll save my nails some wear-n-tear." 

Someone was running at her back, so Rouge spun and delivered a roundhouse kick. Pug-Face went flying and smashed into Sunglasses. That gave her time enough to unlock her handcuffs. 

Rouge jumped and flapped her way to the other side of the hold, flinging her manacles to the floor. The trio of goons had just staggered to their feet and was following the sliding handcuffs with more than a little apprehension. Their eyes zoomed back to the prisoner, now assuming a defensive stance. Rouge bared her fangs. 

"Okay boys, let's have some real fun." 

The hawk-faced leader pulled out a knife. Sunglasses snatched the chains Rouge had dropped and gave them a twirl. Dog-Face picked out a wrench from a toolbox and tapped it eagerly in his palm. Red-Hair squeezed his blade and snarled. 

"Hurt her." 

They charged. Rouge snarled and jumped into the action with a flying kick. A frenzied dance of slashing and parrying jumped across the cargo bay. The guards had her surrounded, but Rouge had just enough time to belt one before the next attacked – jerking back from a knife, ducking the swing of a wrench, snatching a whip 'round her wrist and pulling the user into boot range. She delivered her counter-attack, whipping the bad boys with her steel boots. 

Three stooges crumpled in a pile. Rouge clicked her heels on the floor and thrust her hands in air to receive her applause. 

The cabin door had swung open on creaky hinges. The pilot and co-pilot looked back on the display with wide eyes. 

Rouge slinked over to the cargo bay doors, waved goodbye to her sparring buddies and pulled the handlebar. Wind rushed at her face, blowing back her ears. Rouge ducked her face, shielding her already watery eyes and noticed the staring pilots, so she flashed her two fingers in a V-symbol at the cabin. 

"Thanks for the lift, fly-boys, but next time I expect first-class!" 

And like an Olympic swimmer leaping into a swimming pool, Rouge the Bat dived out the helicopter and plummeted through the dark sky. Her body corkscrewed into the night and near vanished, when two black, scaly wings snapped to full length and caught her descent like a parachute. The nocturnal queen glided out of range before either pilot could even think to send the Hoverpods. 

The pilot and his navigator detached themselves from the windows and slumped back in their seats, as if in a daze. They did not wake until the automatic doors rolled shut and sealed with a jarring _click._

They looked at each other. 

"I'm flying the plane," the pilot pointed out. 

The co-pilot gave a conceding nod and reached for the radio transmitter on his headset. Headquarters acknowledged transmission. The soldier chewed his lips a minute, trying to decide what to say. He finally squeezed his knuckles white and gave his best improvisation. 

"This is _Sigma-Alpha-2_ reporting … Uhh, Sir, it … It happened again." 

**

||||||||||

**


	5. One Last Job

Now he knew why they called 'em concrete jungles. Looking to the sky was like trying to peer through the tree line of a dense forest, and in every direction skyscrapers boxed in the horizon. 

The last time he'd been in Corvalis, Nack the Weasel had been running for his life. Now, he was stretched back on a bench with his hands behind his head, stargazing. It was neat to enjoy the streets of a big city without panicking that some cop or do-gooder might recognize him. In fact, it felt weird, and couldn't help but twitch his snout to the side every time footsteps passed. 

A handful of change clinked at his side. "Get a job," the disgusted commuter sneered. Nack snarled, but rolled to his feet and picked up the coins anyhow. He wasn't stupid – take everythin' ya can! 

Once more he lolled his head back and contemplated the stars. Concrete stars for a concrete jungle, he mused. The moving, blinking scatterplot of celestial lights were Hoverpods. 

That faint puttering noise in his ear, like a tiny helicopter in the distance? – That was the entire horde of flying beetles, beating their fan engines in a collective hum. Ever since "The ARK Incident", the military's drones had been scattered over the skies of every major city, supposedly protecting the folks below from the next inevitable attack. 

Nack remembered just how many there had first been, darkening the skies like a swarm of locusts. News reports even pointed out squads of GUN-Hawks – bigger, more heavily armed brothers to the miniscule floating eyeballs. Much as he disliked the armed forces, the country needed those gear-heads up there to pump up morale and to keep everyone from going crazy. Because after Sonic the Hedgehog went psycho and stole that chaos emerald from the bank, the word 'Impossible' needed new definition. 

Islands blowing up, fighter planes bombing bridges and entire city blocks, the Doc using his big bug-zapper on the Moon. People got scared. As in, mass-anarchy, rioting-in-the-streets scared! 

If _The Great Chaos_ wasn't enough to get a military reaction, then that space-laser and the insanity it sparked had finally woken up someone at G.U.N. Now the country was on high alert with those Hover-heads, and there wasn't one newspaper that didn't talk about approaching war. Something big would come; it was only a matter of time. 

Red certainly must have been a smart lady to hide out for an entire month in this whole new world – even with armies of drones searching and five million on her head, hunters like Drake or Sharps couldn't track down the powder-keg. 

And then one day Bat-legs – in her finest disguise – clacked her heels down the street of a small town and stepped on the tail of one already thoroughly pissed-off weasel. Nack had only one word for it: Comeuppance! "Bout time ay gat a break!" 

A din of noise rose from the subway station, and bodies soon followed from the underground. Nack got to his feet, grabbed his bag and started looking for his contact. He had a fresh life to start on G.U.N.'s good side, but first, he had one last job to finish. 

The weasel spotted the fatso – how could you miss those hanging jowls? – He was nervous, nothing new there. Nack decided to have some fun. He would walk right up through the crowd, poke his tail in blubber-boy's belly and hiss something creepy – maybe "You're late. I don't like that". 

But, as per all his plans, the universe always decided to add some small, miniscule scribble into the calculations – an intervention that consistently lead the equation to self-destruct. 

A man yapping into a cell-phone spared the weasel a few words. "Out of my way!" He shoved Nack from his path, which knocked him into a heavy lady. 

"Hey, quit hoggin' the road, rat-face!" She slammed her palm on his shoulder and sent him staggering backwards – a move he was able to stop only by catching his hand on the chest of a fine young lady. 

"You pervert!" She threw his hand away and beat him back with her purse. Nack yipped and blocked his face and stumbled over his tail, falling on his back. 

And of course, the universe decided that no one should notice another bump in the sidewalk – not even a furry, squishy one that squeaked when you pressed it. 

"OH GEEZ! AAH! OWW! AHH! OOH! GAA!" 

He hated, he hated, he HATED stilettos! 

A new voice pushed its way through the crowd. "WHOA! What are you people doing! Out of the way – HEY, back off!" The treading over his spine dissipated. Large hands picked the weasel back onto his feet. 

"Oh man, are you okay?" the voice asked. "Geez, what a world," the man lamented. "With all the attacks going on, you'd think people could learn to look out for each other. What a …" the chubby man stopped. "Oh gosh, it's you." 

Nack cringed – this was not making him look good. The weasel pulled out of the fat hands and drew to his full height, wanting badly to maintain a dark presence. He tipped his hat and let his trenchcoat sweep wide. The stout fellow gulped. "Fang the Sniper." 

"Bout time yeh gat 'ere," Nack snarled. 

The fat man nodded with little eyes. "I think I got here just in time." 

Nack sneered. "Oh Shaddup, ya Boy-Scout. Let's just get dis over wit so I don't hafta look at yer face anymoire. Yeh brought it?" 

The janitor gave a nervous look at the crowded street. His pudgy hands tightened round the strap of his backpack. "Umm, maybe we should do this somewhere else…" 

The weasel gnashed his teeth. "Well o' course we will! Geez, I ain't stoopid!" 

"No, no. I mean… away from _them_." His finger pointed skyward. Nack grumbled: Yet another paranoid idiot! 

"Whaddid Ay tell yah? Dem Hoverpods ain't watchin' us! Day can't even shoot us, fer Pete's sake – they're just floatin' up dere! Dey don't do anytin'!" 

"All the same," he said, his confidence in the magical army intact, "I – I'd really prefer if we did this somewhere … quiet." 

"All right, all right. C'mon." 

The human gave a final, skyward look, opened up an umbrella, and followed the weasel. 

**

||||||||||

**

Nack – Fang the Sniper by his business alias – led the chubby human to a park, and they continued their transaction under the cover of a large grove of oak tree. 

"Fifty Thousand," the weasel confirmed, and opened his backpack for a peek at the cash. His contact was awed; Nack pulled it away. "_If_, yeh brought it here…" 

The backpack almost flew off the poor janitor's shoulder. "It's here," he babbled. "Just like you said. I don't think anyone saw me; I told Mitch to take the night off, and I tried to be quiet and put everything back in place and…" 

"And yew put teh fake one in da crate?" 

He nodded vigorously. "I did everything you asked," he said with a tremble. "Please, just take it now. I don't want to get in trouble." 

"Trouble?" Nack laughed. "Whaddid yew do ta get in trouble? Yeh just stole sometin' from a G.U.N. supply warehouse!" 

The poor man looked ready to wet himself. "Please, my family needs the money – I'm a good person!" 

"Yeah, yeah. All right, give it 'ere." The backpacks exchanged ownership. OOF! Nack could not hold the weight of the bag. It dropped and crushed his feet. 

"Oh, umm… here let me help you." Mr. Nice-Guy came and helped the bounty hunter pull the sack onto his shoulders. Nack winced again – _Why'dya hate me, world?_

"Okay," the weasel confirmed. "If ay hear anytin' about this; if yew make one little peep, I'm gonna cut yer head off. Gat it?" 

More obedient nodding. "I won't say a thing; I can't lose this job." 

Before Nack let him leave, the weasel inspected his new toy for authenticity. He crouched over the backpack and peeked inside, confirmed the description: black dome, a white visor, and a single green eye. This was he. 

The human shuddered. "It's for The Doctor, isn't it?" Nack looked at him quizzically. "You're working for Him, aren't you? He's your employer." 

The weasel let his hanging overbite spread into a smile. "Boy, yer smarter than ya look. Let's just say, teh Doc ain't too happy about yer Bosses takin' apart 'is Egg Carrier." Nack patted the backpack. "Dere was a few toys he left onboard." 

Sickness consumed the human. "Oh God… Oh God…" 

Nack reached through his ripped trenchcoat pocket and dug for the gun holster on his belt. In a flash, his quick hands had a laser pistol pointed at fatty. "Dawn't yew get soft on me, fats!" he threatened. "If teh military is after me, yer gonna be in a lotta pain!" The energy meter on his gun read empty; he hoped the patsy couldn't tell. 

"Yew gat yer money, go be happy! I've got a lotta good things goin' fer me now, an' I ain't gonna let yew ruin me! Gat it?" The sobbing little man nodded. 

The weasel released his pawn. He ran away, clutching his backpack of cash. Nack would have run as well, but this clunker was heavy! He had to pull the sack across the ground! 

Given his luck, Nack was never much of an optimist, but tonight, he reminded himself to be thankful: he was a free man; the Doc would pay handsomely for this old robot, and Bat-legs was in a whole lot more pain than he. 

**

||||||||||

**


	6. Two Of A Kind

Her eyes slowly blinked into focus. Slivers of sensation worked into her brain: darkness, crickets chirping. Wood on her back and salty blood in her mouth. Her head ached. 

Rouge was certain she was outside, or at least somewhere where the rustle of wind could find her body, but there was lighting here as well. Two pale, yellow lamps hung over her head and made her lashes twitch at the bothersome light. 

The lights winked out, and before she could adjust, they opened up and stared at her again. 

Rouge gasped – Not lights. Something was watching her! 

Her body had been groggy, but now it was growing deathly still, and she looked back into the eyes, tensing for the first strike. She could see no end to the beast – it was enormous, and its breath stank of dead meat. Blast, she could have had lethal injection, but now she was at the mercy of some wild animal! She could hear the great beast rumble. 

"Hey Froggy! She's wakin' up!" 

**

||||||||||

**

The mammoth feline was gentle to carry her, and his fur was a soft comfort. He sat her on a log 'round a crackling campfire and explained their encounter. 

"Froggy an' me were fishin' at the river, see, an' it was pretty windy. Then all a sudden we heard someone yellin' an' then you crashed." 

Rouge held her throbbing temples in check and nodded from under a blanket. She could remember the winds – In the fierce drafts, her wings had crumpled like an old umbrella and left her tumbling in a free fall. She felt the sting of many cuts, but nothing seemed to have shattered, thank goodness. 

"You made a big splash," the cat illustrated. "I went out to getcha an' I took you back home." 

Home, Rouge interpreted, was this calm, wooden cabana in the rainforest. She asked for an explanation of where she was, but the place was just "Home" to the fat cat. He had no other name for the jungle. 

Rouge pressed back on her headache. Well, better lost with a simpleton hermit than snuggled up with GUN-Hunters at a military prison. At least this secluded dimwit didn't recognize her as Rouge the Bat, government spy, self-employed treasure hunter and recent sacrifice to the gods of public relations. 

The cat spent some time leaning over his fire and poking a frying pan held over the flames. When she called for attention, he gave a little jump. 

"What time is it?" she growled. 

His dim, yellow lightbulbs gave the question serious consideration. "Suppertime?" he finally offered. 

A hiss steamed through the bat's lips. "No, look… do you have a clock or a watch here?" 

"Ohhhh," he said knowingly. "Nope." 

"Nope?" 

"There's a calendar over my bed," he offered, and the cat waddled off to retrieve the item despite her protests. Rouge wondered if he even heard her? 

The monthly schedule dropped in front of her face. Above the table of dates were photographs of colourful flowers. "It's Friday now, but you got here on Thursday." 

Rouge was alarmed. "I was out for a whole day!?" She must have had a concussion – had she hit a rock, maybe? 

But the cat shook his head, ears and shaggy fur flapping along. "No," he corrected. "See, you came here on _this_ Thursday up there. An' Today," his stubby finger slid down, "it's this Friday down here." 

Her yelp made him back away and stumble. "Whoa, whoa," he exclaimed, holding his hands defensively. "Are you okay?" 

"Two Weeks!" Rouge moaned. She screwed her face up, thinking about how this lonely hillbilly must have enjoyed her comatose state. 

"Boy Froggy, we sure go a lotta fish today." 

On second thought, luck might have sent her to a male whose appetite was purely digestive. 

"My gloves!" she exclaimed, noticing her bare hands for the first time. And there were further items missing: her boots, her belt, her… 

She gasped. "My babies!" 

Feral rage returned to her face and she lashed her tongue at the cat. "You! What happened to my stuff?" 

Her affairs were piled in a neat corner of the hut. He said it was because they'd been wet and needed to dry, though Rouge's mind lept to more larcenous motives. Diving down, she threw aside the knee-high boots, even though her feet already stung from moving barefoot. Consumed by dread, she hunted around her belt until she produced a velvet pouch. Frantically, she undid the drawstrings and let the gemstones slide into her palm. 

"You're all here," she sighed with great relief, once she counted the diamonds and jewels she had rescued from her hideout in Midvale City. 

There were a dozen small crystals the size of her fingernail; a pair of matching pearls that would have been wasted on some old hag's earrings; a golden necklace carrying a ruby locket; a diamond encrusted bracelet; three slivers of jade, one sapphire stone and her prize of the flock: a gold wedding ring crowned with a jet-black pearl, which she slipped over her finger with extreme delicacy and raised to the light for further adoration. 

"It's okay now," she cooed, stroking her fingers along the precious stones. "Mommy's here." 

Throaty croaking interrupted her intimate moment. Rouge took a wide swipe at the frog, which jumped and hopped out doors. She snarled and returned her treasures to their place of protection. 

As she dressed, and pulled on her snowy gloves, the bat fumed. How dare he! How dare that bloated, thickheaded country hick leave her jewels simply lying on the floor, as if they belonged with her footwear! How dense was this creature? 

"Didja get all your stuff?" he asked when she emerged. Rouge scowled, and pulled out her makeup kit. 

"Yeah, I found it," she snapped, while applying eyeliner. "On the floor." 

The cat didn't seem to notice that final emphasis. "Good, I was worrying Froggy was gonna hop on everthin'. I hadda keep him outta the house since you came. Froggy's nice, but he just wants ta poke through everythin', and it isn't nice to go around and look through other people's stuff." 

She was only ignoring the hillbilly's folksy wisdom. "Hey," he exclaimed with excitement. "Your clothes are the same colour as my fur!" 

Rouge's hand jerked and she smeared her lipstick. Oh God, there was her headache again! 

"Well, isn't that interesting," she said with a forced smile, and she struck a pose to show off her leather bodysuit with rose highlighting her midriff and a loose belt accentuating her hips. "We must be two of a kind, birds of a feather." 

The cat flapped his ears again. "Not really." 

She gave a fanged smile and sauntered back to the fireside. "Well anyway, you're certainly _my_ friend after everything you did for me." 

"Aww, that's nice," the cat blushed. "But I was just doin' what anyone woulda done." 

Rouge found that hard to swallow. "Anyway, friend…" 

"I'm Big." 

"Of course you are. Anyway, it's been great spending all this time with you, but I really need to get going." She sniffled. "My family must be so worried about me." 

His ears stiffened. "Uh oh. Where d'ya live? Maybe I can show you the way?" 

_Jackpot_. "I… I'm not sure. My home is a Cit-eee. It's a _big_ place with tall buildings and nice roads and things we call cars…" 

The cat cut her off. "Oh yeah, I've been there before. Are you from Station Square or Midvale?" Rouge was taken aback, so he continued. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. You gotta take the train to get to both places." 

Eyes flashed with hope. "The train?" Was there really a train that came to this god-forsaken vegetable-bowl? 

"Yeah, the train," the cat confirmed. "I'll take you there t'morrow and we can figure out how ta getcha home." 

No, no, no! Not another minute here! "Oh, but my mom and dad are probably missing me so bad! Couldn't we go now? Please?" 

The cat frowned. "Well… Okay, I guess. But first, we better eat somethin'. You must be starvin'." 

Rouge guessed that breakfast, lunch, dinner and mid-meal snacks consisted entirely of fish. She leaned away from the offered frying pan and the browned piece of meat. "Sorry," she said firmly. "I'm a vegetarian." 

"Oh," he noted. "I've never seen one of you before, so I was wondrin'. I'm a cat, by the way." 

"Right…" 

"Go on, you can eat it. There's plenty more." 

Rouge screwed up her face. She shouldn't – her body wasn't built to digest flesh. Fruits and fluids, thank you. But… Oh, her insides were rumbling at the offer. She ripped away her gloves, grabbed the fish and shoved the greasy meat down her mouth. 

Delicious! More! She wolfed it up in seconds. Then a third, and a fourth – she was so hungry! 

"Wow," the cat exclaimed. 

Panting at the excess, Rouge followed his directions and tread wearily to the stream to wash up. Once clean and with cosmetics reapplied, she was ready to get back to civilization. 

The cat joined her at the waters edge, holding a parasol with a concerned grip. His eyes and ears flickered about cautiously. "We don't have any roads like in the city," he explained with half-attention, "So y'gatta follow the water. Me an' Froggy'll show you the way, you just stick close." 

Rouge smirked. "Got it, chief." 

He leaned down and looked her with frightening seriousness. "Stick close, okay? We shouldn't really be out when it's this dark." He shivered. 

She almost felt intimidated. But she remembered what a fool this was and kept her cool. 

The frog swam in the lead and the cat stomped after, with Rouge on his heels. She had to run just to keep up with his giant footsteps. The trees hung close and the waters slopped at her feet. She cried out several times when the muddy bottom fastened its hold on her heels and threatened to pull her boots away. The water was icy cold, and it leaked into her footwear until every step was a slimy, squishy trek. The cat must have had fur made of brambles to endure the jungle. 

"Keep close," he warned every few minutes of their upstream hike. He didn't speak much else, just clutched his umbrella close. 

Rouge wanted to kill him for taking her on this death march. At points, the water rose to her hips, and she had to unclip her heart-locket and thrust her belt above her head to keep her treasures safe. The cat just bounded forward like a purple balloon, an all-terrain vehicle just as natural in the water as an amphibian. 

The turns and bends went on forever, and Rouge wondered how anyone could navigate when every tree was identical, when finally, the cat announced, "Climb out." 

There was a shelf of rock and vines walling the river, and forcing it to bend. _Froggy_ hoped up a mound of boulders, and the cat hoisted himself up the impromptu staircase. Without his bulk as a dam, Rouge suddenly felt the full force of the waters. She yelped as the current began to pull. 

Something snatched her neck and yanked her out. The cat pulled her up and let her take a firm grip on the rocks. "Y'gatta be careful," he warned. Rouge just snarled and demonstrated her proficiency at climbing. 

The level above was much the same – trees boxing in the pathway and cutting off the moonlight. But this time, Rouge had the blessing to scrabble along stones and dull her steel boots on rocks. She swore this cat was trying to murder her! On they marched until the rocks crumbled to dirt and the path divided into two. The cat stopped at this fork in the road. 

"Well?" Rouge demanded breathlessly. "Where to now, oh great leader?" 

The cat frowned and studied his options. At his feet, Froggy shifted restlessly. 

"I'm wai-ting," Rouge said in singsong. 

"Hang on, I'm tryin' to remember," the cat reminded. He obviously hadn't come this way in some while. 

While she huffed and waited, her mind buzzed with plans. If two weeks had passed and only the cat had found her, maybe G.U.N. thought she was dead, and that could be an advantage. But still, to be safe, she'd have to keep a low profile and sneak on to the train, maybe cling to the top as it moved. And then, she had to see about getting that passport, which meant obtaining a new disguise for a big city. Were her bank accounts still active? And after that clutter was solved, she still had to sneak into Corvalis and her apartment, where another load of her precious jewels were hidden. She worried if anyone might have found the secret panels in her absence… And after that, she had to get out of the country. Westside Islands perhaps, or maybe overseas where the United Provinces and their bulldog G.U.N. had little influence… 

Goodness, life was complicated. 

A moth fluttered into the path and around their legs. Froggy flicked his tongue and missed. The insect buzzed away, but the frog was not put off. He gave a hop and flicked again, then hopped after it into the trees. The movement caught the cat's attention, and he watched. His eyes popped open, terror stricken. 

"Froggy, NO!" He stumbled after, but it was too late. Panic overtook him. "Froggy's gone! An' it's dark! I gotta get him!" 

Rouge saw her only hope escaping, and put her foot down. "What about me? I'm still stuck here!" 

"But – but, Froggy!" 

She grabbed his fur before he could run off. "No way, fatso! Not until I'm out of here!" 

He couldn't shrug her grip off. "I've gotta save him! It's late – If I don't find him first…" 

"First, you tell me where to go!" Rouge snarled. 

"Froggy!" 

Rouge grabbed the scruff of fur on his chest and tugged. "Where's the train!?" 

Big winced, both in mortal pain and mental torture. Ohh, which way, which way? Where did he go last time Froggy left? Which way … Froggy… 

"Left!" he blurted, eyes turning watery. "Left!" 

Rouge gave one last pull. "And after that?" 

The cat sobbed. "There's a ladder at the end. … A tunnel… then the train. Please, I gotta help him!" 

Information drained, the bat pushed him away. The cat didn't even retaliate – he just plunged into the bushes, yelling for his lost friend. "Good luck finding Frog-Legs," she taunted and stormed down the path to the left. 

Slowly, her footsteps were swallowed by the jungle. A voice howled in the night under unbearable torture. Up above, the perverted moon sunk behind cloud and shadows grew over the Mystic Ruins. 

The thickets rustled, and a shaggy purple bulk stepped back on the path. Tears were in his eyes as he cradled the small creature in his arms. Then a smile overtook his face and his companion returned with a happy gurgle. Big the Cat nuzzled his nose with Froggy. 

He smiled with content. "Now I've got everything I need." 

Froggy croaked, and suddenly Big remembered the lady, the Vegetarian. "I hope she's doing okay," he said with concern. "Poor thing, she's lost her Mom an' Dad. Just like you, huh, Froggy?" 

An agreeing _ribbit_. Big sighed and wished he hadn't made her so mad. "Well, maybe we can catch up and make sure she gets to the train all right. C'mon Froggy!" 

He started left, but Froggy suddenly jumped out of his hands and started croaking and jumping as if possessed by a devil. Big was startled, but he quickly identified the cause, the lingering phobia. 

"Whoops. Sorry Froggy." He picked up his friend and stepped far away from the dark path going left. 

"I forgot. Other left." 

And with a mind balanced at peace, Big the Cat felt his memories surface with ease. He and Froggy plodded towards the train station, down the path on the right. 

**

||||||||||

**


	7. At The Gates

"I hate places like this!" 

Rouge was an outdoors person. In moderation. She liked sand and surf – just as long as there was moonlight accompanying. She was on good terms with flowers, especially exotic breeds – but she preferred them all the more if they were confined to pots and gardens. And trees were all right, she used to climb them all the time as a girl – but nice, tame trees that grew sparsely in a park, not murderous wood demons out to strangle her path! 

"Two weeks. No wonder They aren't looking for me – you can't move anywhere in this swamp!" 

Her path to civilization wasn't growing any easier. The jungle rushed at her with all its wild outgrowth: Branches refused to stay off the path; thorns grew plentiful on the vines that dangled in her face. She tripped and cursed her way through the untamed lands. 

The moon was hidden as well – Storm clouds brewed over the jungle and blocked out the slits of light raining through the trees. Though nocturnal by nature, Rouge had to strain and squint to see properly through the broth of shadows. Her echolocation was no help either. She tried a few high-pitched clicks on the trees, and her screeches simply bounded back at full throttle, having struck an impenetrable wall. The jungle was thicker than any security vault she had ever peered into. 

Near blind, she could at least use her sonar abilities to check the path ahead, and she clicked every few steps to make sure she wouldn't run into a wall when the road curved. There was nothing to save her body though, so she gritted her fangs and endured the cuts and scrapes. Thank goodness her leather suit concealed her entire figure. 

"Emeralds," she panted, feeding her will with fantasy. "Bubble baths … chocolate … a dead weasel…" 

A splash of pain in her stomach made gasp. Rouge bowed over, clutching her insides. It felt like knives were being rolled around in her gut! 

"That would be supper," she winced. The fish. She should have starved. Now, she would have to walk with inflamed innards forcing a pile of indigestible poison through her system. 

She kept walking with one hand holding her stomach, and slowly, she began to feel a change in the jungle, though she knew not whether for the better. 

The road deteriorated into dry sand that crunched under her feet, and slowly, her sonar pulses began to travel farther. The trees were thinning out. Most were loosing leaves or shedding bark. The rest were dead. She could walk at full height without dodging brambles and roots, but at what cost, she wondered. Why was the jungle … she strained for a verb… crumbling? A train platform couldn't devastate this much, could it? 

Her nose caught the scent of oil. 

Then her latest echolocation came back and blasted Rouge off her feet! Something big, up ahead! Her stomach reeled. 

She tried to save a mental snapshot of the intense sound waves. The object rebounding her singing returned only a thin, vertical strip, but a strip so incredibly tall! Higher than any tree! It wasn't the right frequency for bark either; it was higher … metal. 

An antenna! A radio tower? It must have been for the train station, she was finally at the end of this nightmare! 

Storm clouds bubbled and churned up above. The clouds were gathering, but there was not yet enough to unleash the downpour. The storm ground its teeth and thunder gnashed the skies. 

Rouge tried to contain herself: the waves had come uninterrupted, so the path must not have veered. Perfect – she would beat the rain and get out of this hellhole! Rouge fought the knives in her chest and stood, limping down the road of ashes and dying trees, shrieking above the threshold of normal hearing and letting that strip of sound guide her. 

She tripped on a rock and stumbled into a clearing. The storm snarled. 

Her vision was beginning to blur – she really was sick, and what she could see made her sweat in a hot fever. There were no trees at all, here at the edge of a great cliff. Had she staggered any further, she would have gone over and plunged to her death. Below that, she could see only more green jungle. 

"That damn cat! He sent me down the wrong way!" 

She could hardly stand against the pain. But what was this antenna of metal she had discovered? Here, unburdened by the shadow of trees, her filmy eyes could dive down the cliff and follow the jungle growing in a deeper basin. Something else had grown out of the jungle, and it climbed higher than any living thing, towering up even above Rouge and her elevated ground. 

A Tower – that was it. And she could see the black outline of a path stretching from the enormous spire all the way to her precipice, like the single branch of a dead tree. She trudged over to this pathway unafraid. Skyscrapers and towers were her element after all, and she couldn't last out here too much longer, sick and sightless. 

She realized something: it was still dark. Not a single window shone a single light from the dead tower. It was empty. 

Still, she decided to investigate. The pathway was, in fact, a tube of glass – her echolocation told her that much. It was some sort of moving escalator or tramcar to ferry passengers over to the skyscraper. All right, she had figured out what this thing was; now the obvious question: 

"Who the hell tries to hide a skyscraper in the middle of the jungle!?" 

She exhaled. "And _why_ am I asking that when I know damn well who it is?" 

Lightning flashed, thunder cracked, and the world lit up enough for Rouge to see the face emblazed onto the door. Menacing eyes, hawk-nose. A fierce set of teeth comprising a doorway and a wild moustache. 

She took a stiff breath. "The Doctor." 

Now she knew what this place was: The jungle was Mystic Ruins, and this was the abandoned base G.U.N. had excavated long ago. She was standing at the gates of Final Egg. 

And the thought worried her not the least. "Dusty ol' place," she tsked, drawing her nail through the lichens settling over the doorway. The stats of this fortress had been included in the briefing of her final mission. Suffice to say, it was large, and mostly cordoned off by think security doors, but all that really mattered was that G.U.N. had poked through and confirmed its vacancy: The Doctor had wiped the computers, pulled the power and left the place to rot. 

Rouge looked up at the sky and the frothing storm. "Well, I'll be damned if I stay out here tonight." Storm or no storm, that was. She had experienced all the 'great' outdoors she'd ever want. 

She didn't bother with the tramcar. Electricity was off, wasn't it? She climbed atop the tube, hissing at her stomach's protests. With wings spread to catch any drunken fall, she crawled across the jungle chasm and towards the growing tower. She would be lead right into the upper levels. 

Rouge risked a tiny glance down, and saw the blurry devastation at ground level. Around the tower was a blast-zone of gray land, hollow of trees. The fortress was a spike of poison, driving oil and coolants and smog into the jungle and killing out plant life. No wonder that cat was afraid to go out at night – this place was like a cursed land. Something worse than jaguars or panthers had once slinked around the spire, and he no doubt still feared the long-gone sentinels. 

At the other end of her tightrope walk, she realized just how small she was compared to the massive horizon of Final Egg. There was a grating at the top of the tube, which she smashed and lowered herself through. The entrance opened with a bit of stressful kicking. Every time she lifted her legs, her stomach grunted. 

Dark. Dusty. She pierced the nothing with a flashlight's beam. A circular room. Control panels; empty green tubes; a strange podium with dangerous arms prodding the sides. "Gotta be a first-aid kit somewhere," she panted. Rouge took some cautious steps, tripped and rolled down a flight of stairs. 

It hurt, but the shock of the fall was much worse. According to her flashlight, she seemed to be in some sort of gladiator arena, scarred by laser fire and with more Robotnik-Face doors lining the walls. Maybe He had thrown prisoners down here and let his mechs spar with the captives? The thought made her want to get up, but the pain shooting through her body was finally too much. She dropped in a sweaty mess. 

Maybe her stomach felt a little better now, but she decided not to test anything yet. She would not go any farther tonight. Rouge pulled her gem-pouch from her belt and brought her treasures to the light. She wanted to enjoy these one last time. 

One at a time, they came out. She would look at them; focus her jade eyes on the jewel in her palm. After awhile, she might touch them, but very gently. She would stroke her finger across the many faces of the diamonds, down the smooth curve of the pearls, and along the perfect circle of her black ring. Then, after an interval, she might wear the jewelry, and slip the bracelet or the necklace over her body to feel the cool touch of beauty spread though her limbs. 

Beauty, order, perfection – they were all of these things to her. It was incredible, the way the minerals and elements arranged themselves into such pure forms. Not one jagged edge, not one rough surface; it was all smooth and perfected. It made her think there was some higher order to the world, some greater force that could bring insanity into focus, and channel beauty out of life. They were chiseled out above the rest, her children. 

When she was too tired to go on, and when she had given her black-diamond ring a kiss goodnight, she fastened the strings of her purse tightly, and held the pouch fiercely in her hands, next to her head. If she loved one thing as much as her perfect jewels, it was a secret. These were for her, and her alone. She would be the only one so privileged as to gaze into their crystal depths, and she would revel in that superiority. 

With the precious stones close to her heart, Rouge let her eyes drop down and take her to rest. 

**

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**


	8. Into The Abyss

She slept long and peacefully with her wings draped around her body like a blanket. The occasional mutter rose out of her relaxed breathing – some secret nightmare of her past that sought release – but she did not stir. 

Not until a small buzzing noise flickered through her ears. She twitched and grumbled angrily, batting her hand for the alarm clock. Rouge hit nothing, and the abnormality jolted her out of sleep. 

Her eyes flashed open and she remembered where it was she had sought shelter – The Hall of the Robot Lord, now only an abandoned crypt of metal. 

_So why do I hear something moving?_

She lay still, feigning sleep. The buzzing motor grew louder and the robot came closer. 

_One… Two… Three._

"HA!" Her legs swiped the air and connected. The small badnik flew across the room. Rouge rolled away, climbed to her feet and drew her flashlight like a gun. She struck the intruder with a beam of light. 

Her attacker was far smaller than she assumed: A little box with tank treads squealed helplessly on its back. Rouge exhaled and marched over to the pool of light to examine her find. 

The badnik was anything but dangerous – a tiny little scarab, it watched her with wide, yellow eyes and flicked its droopy antennae in a fashion that suggested fear. 

"You're a funny little guy," she muttered, and she smiled, watching how he struggled to move. She popped her flashlight in her mouth and devoted both hands to checking for and tearing off weapons. 

_Ho-wuummmm_. Rouge jumped and tossed the robot away as it began emitting a low, sucking noise. The scarab landed on its wheels and started rolling across the floor. The sucking continued – joined by the clink of tiny particles moving down a tube. 

Rouge watched on the edge, but after a second she found the power to laugh at herself. "Look at me, jumping like rabbit! You're nothing but a little vacuum cleaner!" The scarab ran across the floor, lapping dirt and dust into its tube mouth. 

The bat grinned, and nabbed the cute robot again. It's antennae squirmed and it beeped at the distraction, but Rouge went right ahead and examined the straggler. "Did your big brothers leave you behind?" she teased. Well, Robotnik could be excused for not being totally thorough, especially with such an unimportant little thing as this garbage picker. 

She played with the badnik awhile, discovering its secrets. The antennae that hung before its face were probably to scan the path and avoid objects. The back shell was like a miniature dump truck: it angled on a little piston and the wing-covers split to release all the trash collected inside. It really was just an automated vacuum cleaner. 

What other leftovers and scraps were forgotten, she wondered. A ship maybe, to fly her out of this disgusting jungle? 

For the time being, she decided to amuse herself with this little toy. With her flashlight, Rouge followed it suck up junk, and after a few passes, she would crawl over, pick it up and dump out its cargo, laughing as the bug struggled to clean the mess again. She picked out some dust bunnies and tossed them around the room and watched her little puppy retrieve the bundles. 

"Good boy," she laughed, and let it suck up the crumbs from her hand. Then she emptied his shell and made him do it all over again. 

Rouge laughed and enjoyed her game, but she grew bored after awhile, and so she stopped her antagonizing and watched her pet scurry about its duties. She laid on the ground and trailed her flashlight after the bug, thinking about how pathetic the thing was. 

The scarab's antennae twitched. It's treads halted to avoid a crash with a larger piece of contamination. A velvet pouch. 

Rouge blanked. Her hands patted her belt, but her gem-sack was not there. The beetle hovered on the spot and considered its latest find. 

"Don't even think about it," Rouge hissed. She crawled forward, raising a trembling hand to seize her belongings. The beetle prodded the bag with its feelers, deciding how to approach this problem. Its vacuum hummed at a low, tentative speed. Rouge slowly crept closer, fearing swiftness might provoke the bug, and stretched her fingers. 

"Got it!" Her hand snatched the drawstrings and plucked her purse off the floor. 

_Clink… clink-clink_. It was the sound of something precious dropping out of the bag. Rouge shone her flashlight and found her black pearl ring, helpless before a monster. 

"No…" 

The beetle zipped forward and slurped up her treasure. Job complete, it turned around and rolled away. Rouge watched, transfixed with horror. 

Rouge never worried. She had cast aside fear long ago and now, anxiety was always channeled out as rage. If she had a problem, she would not sit down or tremble. She would make someone else tremble! 

"You little creep, get back here!" She crawled on hands and knees after the robot, which accelerated and charged at the walls. Rouge saw nothing but the beetle. She would grab him, tear him open and rip his head off, that insolent little speck of dust! Where did he think he could hide? In the walls? 

The scarab toddled off through a doggy-door in the wall. Smack! Rouge knocked her forehead into the bulkhead. The maintenance panel locked shut, sealing her away from her treasure. 

Rouge rubbed her head. She couldn't believe it: someone actually had the gall to rob _Her_! Rouge the Bat, greatest treasure hunter in the world! _She_ was the tomb raider around here, not some abandoned vacuum cleaner! Her feet connected with the hidden panel and started smashing it off its hinges. She seized the door with her nails and ripped it away. Down the little vent, she could see the twin head-beams of her mechanized janitor, rolling down the path. 

Robotnik may have built the maintenance tunnel too small for humans, but with her wings scrunched, and her body flat, Rouge could squeeze in and inch her way down into the scarab's lair. 

"I'm coming, you little thief!" 

The tunnel was not very long, on account of the scarab's small size. At the back of the nest was a larger chamber – enough surface area for the little tank to turn itself around and exit, and high enough for it to raise its dump-truck shell, spread its wings and let all its garbage filter down a hole in the ground. 

Rouge caught up in time to witness the horror. She actually caught the glint of her ring just before it got dumped. The scarab folded up and shone its eyes in her face, maybe wondering how it could suck up this enormous obstruction. 

It never thought another thing. Rouge grabbed its face in her hand and slammed it into the wall again and again, crushing the little bugger until its lights shut off and its treads spun no more. 

Justice delivered, Rouge slid into the chamber and peered down the garbage chute. She tore out one of the scarab's antenna and dropped it down, listening for the impact. The rattling descent only faded away, and even her ears could not pick-up the final drop. 

It was a tight squeeze, but Rouge got her entire body in the room and her legs down the hole. She didn't stop to think, she only knew this had to be done. The moment the bug had taken her treasure, her mind had fixated on a single target: the ring. It was her favorite, and she wanted it back with all the ferocious love of a mother for her child. And when Rouge the Bat wanted something, be it the mighty Master Emerald or a tiny band of gold, she got it! Her mind would close out everything else and she would scheme and fight with her entire being for the prize. 

Her ironclad determination was what made her a top agent for the Intelligence Division; at least, until something more lucrative than her work showed up. 

Rouge secured her pouch to her belt – she wasn't going to lose anyone else! – and clipped away her flashlight. She wiggled her way in, pressing her feet to hold her body up. She would go through The Doctor's trash if she had to; she would have that ring! 

Rouge tucked in her limbs, folded her wings, and plunged into the abyss. 

**

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**

Sparks flew from her steel-plated boots as Rouge tried to control her drop. Her heart was beating for the ring, but her tactical mind knew this could not be done quickly. Hands and feet against the walls, she made a slow, spider-walk down the garbage tube. She wasn't sure how long her muscles strained against gravity, or how many floors she descended in this fashion. It was black as pitch. 

The chute finally began to angle sharply. She released the walls and let herself fly down the metal slide, whizzing out the tube and into a heap of ashes. 

Rouge pulled out her flashlight and assessed this lightless room. It was a vast container filled with mounds of various trashes: scrap metal, plastics, paper; all covered in a more recent layer of brown dust. That scarab and whatever other custodians still swept the place had been busy. 

Rouge got to work and started digging. Her hands plunged into the trash and sifted through the fine dust. The ring had to be here, somewhere in the latest payload. The dust was so deep that it might have been sand and she a beachcomber. At one point, her body sunk through the garbage and she waded up to her hips in dirt. She never stopped, no matter how filthy she grew or how irritated her nose became. 

And then, she grabbed a fistful of dirt and felt something solid at its core. Rouge opened her hand and swept away the impurities until her flashlight revealed a glint of gold. The shine was muted by dust, but there it was: the ring, topped like a flower with its black pearl. 

She gasped and hugged it in her palms. The soft touch of the ring satisfied, and the beating lust of her heart began to fade. Her mind opened once more and her obsessive tunnel vision relaxed and spread its view. Rouge looked around this new room. 

"Now what?" 

**

||||||||||

**

After a long search, and a bit of digging, she found an exit. The room was surrounded by long, compressing plates that would crush the garbage into manageable chunks. These would then be pushed out through a gateway in the fourth wall. The opened gate was near buried in the collection of garbage, but Rouge made an entrance large enough to squeeze through the top. It was easier than risking a broken neck by climbing back up the garbage chutes. 

The room she dropped into was a vast collection of conveyer belts and extinguished furnaces used to sort and process the waste. It was a recycling plant, but one could hardly credit this as earnest resource conservation. Robotnik simply took in everything he could, and he sucked it dry until it was no longer any use to him. Not one scrap would be spared when it might hold some value. 

Her flashlight could find no end to the cavern: not even a floor or a ceiling. Rouge shrugged and jogged down her path and through the labyrinth of smelting machines and suspended walkways. The ex-spy could not remember whether G.U.N. had discovered this chamber, but it would surely take years to uncover all the rooms and secrets of Final Egg. Rouge wondered how Robotnik could possibly use so much space. 

There was no conventional exit at the far end of the recycling plant. Rouge didn't mind, because she found something better: an escape route and a trail marker rolled into one. One level below, there was a hole blasted through the wall. The scorched metal bent outward, so whatever had made the impromptu exit had traveled out of the room. 

"Sonic the Hedgehog," she nodded in a satisfied tone. She could almost picture the blue speed-addict racing down the catwalks of this room at lightning speeds and shredding through the walls. It was he who had obviously found this place and forced the good doctor to vacate the premises. "And if that dim-bulb found his way out of here, then I'll just follow his lead." 

There was only a rusty corridor on the opposite side of the hole. Scorches in the wall and skid marks on the floor all suggested the Hedgehog had been through here. Rouge followed his progress down the hallway, and came to a thick, wall-to-wall door with another hole smashed through. She could feel a breeze blowing, and the bat hopped through excitedly. 

Beyond the armored wall was a long chute, almost like a hollow skyscraper within the tower. Again, it was too dark to tell the dimensions, but it was tall enough for air currents to circle through, and Rouge felt a wind on her face. Large, yellow numbers on the wall marked this ledge as floor **90**, and there seemed to be a panel of buttons for accessing an elevator of some sort. 

"You couldn't fly, Blue Boy, so I'll try down." Rouge snapped her wings to their full length and took a running dive into the enormous elevator shaft. 

She would glide to one end of the tunnel, then circle back, controlling her drop with practiced skill. She soon came to another ledge, blocked off by a similar armored garage door. This one was marked **80**. She saw no signs of the hedgehog's path, and her echolocation revealed that the door would need explosives to open. She gave an uppity huff and jumped back down. 

The elevator shaft serviced floors in intervals of ten. There were probably sub-systems to access individual floors. Either that, or Robotnik had super-sized ten floors to match his fat ego. She floated lower and lower, to floor **50**, to **30**, but an armored barrier barred off each ledge. Each time, she frowned but she didn't bother to panic – the only way to travel was down, after all. Why fuss? 

A way out would present itself. She was Rouge the Bat after all – she had infiltrated Hidden Base and weaseled through a powered-down Space Colony ARK. And that was just getting inside. There was always a way out. She lived her life by those words. 

Floor 1, the very bottom of the shaft finally came, and with it, an explanation for the state of the elevator. A heap of fallen platforms cluttered the ground level, some smashed. Rouge recognized them from the ARK and the Pyramid Base. They were levitating platforms, meant to service the various floors, and with power cut off, they could float no longer. 

But traffic was not meant to descend this far. There were no armored doors or ledges here. This was the end of the line. The hedgehog must have found his way through a higher level. Rouge cursed him and waved her flashlight around, looking for the lingering hope. 

Reflective lettering caught her eye: EMERGENCY EXIT. The door was plain metal and human-sized, nothing fancy or futuristic. There were no locks or security keypads, just a bar that you pushed to release the latch and swing the door on its hinges. It pushed open with a rusty moan. 

Rouge smiled. Scientific Genius he may be, but there was something simple about that old fool. He might as well have installed a screen door with bug netting. There was always a way out. 

She was expecting a straight exit into the gray lands at the base of the tower, but The Doctor was not totally senile. There was a concrete stairwell past the emergency door, and the only way to go was down. 

Odd. The report she'd read before that whole "ARK Incident" never said anything about basement levels. This piqued her curiosity. 

So down she went. The stairwell was so boring and economical, she wondered if she was still in the excessive Final Egg. Not one grinning logo was on the wall! Rouge grumbled down eleven flights of stairs, and with each one, she could hear the jungle outside, taunting her with its buzzing and humming wildlife. 

_Wait. Wait one second._ Wasn't she moving underground? Wasn't the stairwell made of muffling concrete? Wasn't the wildlife around the tower _dead_? 

She shut off her flashlight and took the next stairs more cautiously. That sound was not the hum of wildlife; not even the quiet ringing of the brain that arose in silence. It was coming from down below. 

Rouge flinched and shut her eyes. Light! A strip of light stabbed her eyes! 

This was the final staircase. At the bottom was a door. A thick, reinforced door of steel with great big locks and bolts – the kind that might defend a bomb shelter. In their hurry, someone had left it open by only the tiniest hair, and green light was seeping forth. 

Now would have been the time to speak into her radio and report back to headquarters. She caught herself in the reflex of reaching for her old walkie-talkie. This door, these stairs, they had never been included in her mission briefings. 

The light seemed to call her; draw her forth. This was the greatest secret ever to be hidden away, and it was hers to uncover! She slinked to the stinging light, curled her nails around the edge, and pulled it open for a peek. No one in sight. She slipped her body through the crack and entered. 

**

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**


	9. III: The Gathering Of The Dark

Beyond the secret door was a tall corridor held up by rounded arches every few feet. The tower above was styled as a grimy, no-frills mechanics-shop, but the walls down here whispered a sterile, sleek and metallic modern architecture. Light pods on the wall released green shadows into the dark tunnel and fluorescent tubes at her feet marked the pathway. 

Lights. Rouge could not let this go: there were lights – or rather, spots where the darkness was not so deep. Down here, darkness prevailed. And there was more: the breath of ventilation and fresh air, and the omnipresent hum of electricity. 

"He never left," she whispered. "He just went underground. This place is still working!" 

Immediately, she merged with the shadows. Maybe The Doctor wasn't here himself, but something had to be guarding this secret stronghold. Final Egg still lived. The upper levels had been abandoned, but Robotnik must have prepared to hide and scheme here yet. 

A sudden thought made her smile. How much was the knowledge of this bunker worth to the Intelligence Division? Wouldn't they be mad to know that while they searched the house, The Terrorist hid safe underneath the floorboards. If she could get out of here, then her snitching might be exchanged for amnesty. 

Rouge moved with purpose: the exit was a priority, but so was assessing the capabilities of this secret base. 

Robotnik had obviously designed the bunker as a last resort, because the floor plan was far too minimalist for his excessive preferences. The first floor was just a corridor leading to the freight elevator. Floor two was much the same, except that egg-shaped doors lined the hall, and slid open when they detected motion. Rouge slinked down a few of these, and found that the bunker branched out like an ant colony. There was a main tunnel, with adjacent pathways leading to large chambers. There seemed to be some method of organization to the secret base, because every room on floor two stored robots. 

Deactivated, thankfully, and clipped into storage alcoves. There was a private stockpile of munitions and war-machines down here. 

She skipped down to level five and promised to check the rest on her way up. It was the same dark and quite corridor, but down here, there seemed to be some action. Behind the walls, she could here the bleating and chirping of small animals, something like the commotion of a barnyard. Rouge intuited this floor to be a research facility, complete with test subjects. 

She slinked about, wondering whether she could peek in on the metal scientists, when a door at her back swished open. Rouge ducked behind an archway. From her belt of goodies, she produced her makeup compact, with its hand-mirror just perfect for sneaking a look around corners. 

A comical, toy-like badnik – perhaps an upgrade of the elite Eggrobo series – clomped into the hallway. Its body was cherry-red with pipe-cleaner limbs, and owned clunky hands and feet that looked like snow boots and oven mitts. The face, of course, was Robotnik's. There was no mistaking the pointy nose, moustache and mad grin. 

the Super-Eggrobo carried a caged animal in its hands. It pivoted on perfect ninety-degree angles and marched up the hall. Rouge pressed herself into the corner, but her caution was unfounded: the lackey was so consumed with its duties, that it just clanked by with a blissful grin on its face. It didn't even give her a passing glance. 

The little raccoon inside the cage did. Foaming at the mouth, it snarled and rushed the bars of its pen, trying to leap at the intruder. The animal charged with such force, and the Eggbot was so occupied in its marching, that the animal knocked its cage from the robot's hands. The little prison clattered to the floor and the raccoon dashed out the broken door with a rabid snarl. It jumped her. 

The Eggbot stopped and inspected its hands. It looked around and found the empty cage on the floor. Its blue eyes flashed and swept across the floor. 

Rouge was doing her best to keep quiet, but the raccoon had no such inhibitions: its paws were hooked into her boot and it shook a bite of leather in its mouth. She hissed and tried to nip the crazed thing by the back, but her fingers became interesting delicacies the moment they dropped near. Rouge didn't know what could be worse: catching rabies once the bugger gnawed through her shoes, or discovery and capture by the Eggbot. 

The Eggbot was looking and listening, and its sensors picked up the scuffle a few archways back. It homed in on the sound with clomping footsteps. 

Rouge saw there was only one chance. She went low and nabbed the striped tail, yanking with violent force. She threw the raccoon down the hall and dashed its body against the floor. 

The Eggbot immediately changed course and followed the flying rodent like a homing beacon. It marched straight on to the opposite side of the hallway and picked up the body. Rouge held her breath and waited. 

The badnik stared at the unconscious animal in its hands, beeping and whirring as though something was amiss. It stood tall and swept its blue eyes around the room. Rouge tensed. 

Footsteps stomped for her position. _Oh rats!_ Rouge sighed and loosened up for combat. 

Eggbot jogged past Rouge with nary a glance and retrieved its dropped cage. It stuffed the lump of fur back inside, and resumed its militant strides down the hallway and to a far-off room. The doors hissed open, shut. 

Rouge exhaled. She staggered out of the shadows and let her hand rest on one of the many egg-shaped doors. What a close call! 

The door beneath her fingers slid open and she lost her balance, falling until she caught herself on the chest of the Eggbot opening the door. The 'bot looked down at the thing caught on its chassis and let out a few curious beeps. 

_So much for stealth._ Rouge jumped and kicked the robot in the head. It tipped and crashed to the ground, flailing its limbs like an overturned turtle. She bolted through the doorway and dashed down the dark hallway. She didn't stop until she reached the adjacent room. 

A terminal on the wall with a big, green button called her attention. She mashed it, and an armor-plated security door closed off the room. Heavy locks bolted into place. The keypad screen flashed in the darkness: _Lockdown Engaged._

Rouge guarded her back against the door and assessed the room. No computers, no crates, no robots. The room was all darkness, a black void orbiting the single source of light: a tube of glass. The luminous cylinder ran floor to ceiling with a circular control panel dominating the construct at waist level; it released a green glow, like a radioactive dye, into the blackness. 

She squinted, and took edgy steps towards the tube, wondering if this was the power-source of the bunker. The glow of the device was impure: there was a black stain inside, silhouetting the eerie glow. Something was inside. 

As she drew nearer, features came out: bubbles rose through the green tank, and cables dangled out of the ceiling and into the black outline at the container's core. Rouge stole closer, and the darkness took shape, sprouting arms, legs and a head crowned with sickles. 

Her footsteps rippled through the cavern, and she brought herself right next to the glass coffin. She drew back and gasped. 

"Shadow?" 

**

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**


	10. Shadow Reborn

Shock was the first emotion to tear through the bat. She knew the corpse behind the glass. Bewilderment clubbed her into a daze. How could this be? Was this a ghost hanging before her in a green aura? He was dead. Dead! 

"You're dead," she seethed, ordering the blood-streaked spines to disappear. Shadow had burned up in the planet's atmosphere, Sonic had said so himself; he had given her all that remained! Rouge still had the wristlet; she pulled it from her belt pouches and held it up to the green tube, as though the evidence could make this impossibility go away. 

No. Not impossible. There was always a way out. Those who thought otherwise were too frightened to open their eyes to every possibility. There had been a saving grace for Shadow the Hedgehog: two words, one miracle. 

Chaos Control. 

Amazement weakened her legs; Rouge let herself stare stupidly at this thing of wonder. There was no boss to impress or underling to intimidate here; she could put aside her cool detachment and admit that she was astounded. 

Rouge put away the wristlet, and pulled out another circular band: her ring, her perfect, prized, black pearl ring. Gems really were amazing: the flawless architecture, the millions of millions of atoms that fused together to create wondrous, greater being. And she saw now that life was like the gems she adored, and that calamity and triumph could come together; could link and connect and unite into a greater beauty. She was meant to come here – the Cat, his misdirection, the sickness, the scarab, the holes in the wall, the paths not taken, the doors that opened. The greater Power of life – fate, destiny, God; whatever – had brought her here to ascend a final transformation into perfection. 

She reached up and touched the glass lovingly. "You're all mine now," she purred. Here was her means, her way out. The military wanted her to provide insight on The Project Shadow? They could get everything they wanted out of the flesh and blood Ultimate Life Form. 

All they needed to do was a little bartering with a bat… 

She assessed the tank and looked for what to do next. Shadow hung naked in the solution of green fluid; bubbles emerged rhythmically from the mask and tubes around his muzzle. She guessed the chamber was some stasis tube for healing. There were intravenous tubes and cables inserted everywhere: in his arms, in his legs, and in his shoulder. 

His face was twisted into is usual cold look of cruelty. "Aw, don't be so mad," she cooed. "You're gonna be out of there before you know it!" 

She tested a few keystrokes on the console below. Screen savers shut off and revealed heart rate, blood pressure and other vital stats. If she had doubted before, then here was her proof: the thing inside was alive. 

The bat tapped the keyboard and explored the computer that operated the stasis tube. She didn't get very far before it began asking for user identification and password. Simple, she remembered this one. M-A-R-I-A. 

ACCESS DENIED. INVALID PASSWORD. 

"Right, wrong Robotnik. … Oh well." She clicked her heels and waltzed over to the far end of the room. Then she turned around and rushed the tube. Her boots glinted in the green light. 

With one strike, the wall splintered and green liquid began to seep out. Rouge landed on the console and started kicking some more. Slamming the glass, feeding the spider-web cracks, until her egg began to hatch. 

The water broke. The entire front of the tube shattered; the contents rushed out and flooded the floor with green liquid. Sparks jumped from the control console. Shadow's sleeping body went limp, held up only by the puppet strings from the tube. Red beacons flashed on the ceiling. 

Rouge paid special attention to the last one. Blast – a silent alarm! Things had to move fast now. She hopped over the sparking controls and reached inside to pull the respirator off his face. "Shadow? Wake up, we've got to move!" But with every tube she snapped out of his body, his weight only sunk further into the glass. Rouge growled and wrapped her arms around him, head on her shoulder and pulled. 

The cords cut one after another, and pussy fluid spurted from the wounds. The last cable pulled out of his shoulder with a pop and Rouge suddenly fell off the console, dragging Shadow with her. 

Red lights washed over the soaked floor and the awkwardly piled bat and hedgehog. Guards would come soon. "Shadow, you've gotta wake up!" His wet face just drooped over her shoulder. There was no rush of air. 

"He's not breathing…" Rouge rolled the body off and ducked her ear to his mouth. He wasn't breathing – he was off life-support! What had she done? Rouge squatted over his black spines and pulled his body into her arms like a child. "Shadow … Shadow?" He was drifting into eternal sleep. 

This wasn't fair! She hadn't suffered capture by Fang, endured that entire jungle, and climbed down all of Final Egg just to have her meal ticket ripped up. "Dammit, Shadow: Breathe!" She slapped him across the face. 

_Huuuuuuhh._ Air rushed down his throat. 

**

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**

Something was wrong – it was … he couldn't describe it, but his muscles were shivering at this new place. His eyes! He wanted to clench them like a fist! What were those blades stinging his eyes? 

The points atop his head were ringing! Waves from the new place rushed his head and made them ring! It was almost like the whispers from inside his head, but these were more present, more powerful. They hurt! 

He became aware of the absence. The whispers… they were gone! Where had they gone? 

Needles slapped his face. Something else happened too: something … went inside of him! It made him grow bigger, and it made him shiver! He did not want this – he forced it out – he made it go away. But in it came again, and his muscles convulsed at the presence! 

He was cold, that was it. That was why his body shivered. 

The something coming into his chest was changing him: he started to know things. The stinging, that was light. The ringing, that was sound! The needles, that was touch, that was… 

_Hurt._ The whispers, they returned! 

No … wait; this was not they, only their memory. Once, they had told him what _hurt_ was; now he remembered. _Hurt._ Hurt came from _Attack._ He was being attacked! 

He couldn't let that happen. He did not want that. He wanted this cold … Air. He wanted air – he wanted it to tell him more, to tell him light and sound and fire! But how? 

The whispers told him all. _Kill._

He knew _Kill._ He knew it very well. 

The whispers urged him on. 

**

||||||||||

**

Rouge was so overjoyed, she nearly squealed. "He's breathing! Yes, Shadow you're breathing!" 

His hand lunged and seized her neck. 

**

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**

_Kill!_

**

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**

Rouge gagged and choked. The grip tightened. 

But Shadow had a weak hold; his muscles were soft and loose as wet string. His fingers had no more strength than a newborn's reflex. Rouge pulled his grip away and swiped his face for good measure. A hiss sputtered from Shadow's lips. Four bloody streaks down the side of his face added to the red in his spines. 

He wasn't finished – Shadow's other hand clamped over her face and his palm pressed shut her mouth and nose. Between the slits of his fingers, Rouge's eyes went wide. 

**

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**

_Finish it! Finish it!_ The whispers egged him on. 

But Air was making his mind strong. His heart beat fast, and he was learning. A will was growing against the whispers of his instincts. He was thinking. 

_Finish it!_ It was not a request – it was an order. _Finish it!_

He wasn't sure he wanted to. 

_Finish it!_

Why? 

**

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**

Shadow's eyelids peeled apart and stared her down. His pupils shrank, and the cruelty of his face leapt away. His hand jerked from Rouge's face, as though he'd grabbed a hot coal, and he shrank away from his murderous work. The bat got on her feet and she kicked the mad hedgehog in the stomach. Shadow crumpled. 

"What the hell is up with you, you idiot? I'm saving your life!" Shadow only crawled through the sewage on the floor, retching over the pain in his chest and huddling in a little ball. Red lights still spun over the room. 

"Are you going to move, or should I drag you?" How much longer until security arrived? Rouge splashed through the wet floor and knelt over the hedgehog, pulling him from his fetal position. 

He yelled and squirmed like a fish out of water, wriggling out of her pull and erecting barricades with his hands. "Don't touch me!" he ordered with a high and terrified voice. 

"I don't have time for this!" Rouge grabbed his wrist and tried pulling the hedgehog up, but Shadow's fighting only made him drag across the floor. 

He shivered and sobbed. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?" 

Rouge's patience had been pushed to its limit. She was ready to punch him unconscious and carry him out, when the security doors around the room hissed open. Water lapped out the entrance and two dark Eggbots stood at attention, blocking escape. Each carried a tall lance over their shoulder. Their blue eyes blasted to life, locking down a muddy, sweaty bat, and the soggy black bundle she was dragging across the floor. 

The lances lowered for attack. The Eggbots charged. 

Rouge dropped Shadow and barred her fangs. This was it; the first wave was here. She rushed into the bloodshed. 

**

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**

The red newcomers attacked the white lady, and she fought back. He knew that they were robots, and that she was a bat. He knew the ground was wet, and that the red lights hurt to look at. 

He intuited that the white bat felt pain when the lances slapped her, but she got up anyway. She could fight; he recognized the kicks shown to him by the whispers. He knew the first robot was dead when its face flew off, and he knew the other would not survive impalement on a lance. He learned quickly; it seemed to come automatically with every breath he took. 

He knew he had black fur on his arms, chest and legs, with red markings. He knew there was blood running down his face and that his throat hurt from screaming. He knew he was cold and naked, and that he could not move well. His arms and legs were very tired. 

That was all he knew. He did not know where he was, or how he had got there. He did not know his name. 

A shimmering form came to him. Her wings spread to a heavenly expanse and the shadow of her head wore a tiara with two horns. The white lady was coming for him. 

**

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**

"Stay away," the waterlogged hedgehog warned. "I'll hurt you." His voice was taking on the cold seriousness she remembered. 

Rouge panted in the red light. Sweat dripped from her face and rippled through the wet floor. "Yeah right," she laughed. "I'll kick your ass." 

Shadow sat up on edge. "What do you want from me?" 

Her hands dropped to her side in a posture of fatigue. "Don't give me any more crap, Shadow. It's Rouge. Now get up before I kick you for that choking stunt again!" 

"Rouge?" Shadow twitched and covered his head. He seemed to wince under a headache. "I … know you?" 

"Don't weird out on me. C'mon – Robotnik's not really on our team anymore." 

**

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**

Whether she was emissary of Heaven or Hell, he did not know, but the white lady ordered him with a tone of familiarity. She seemed to know him, but he did not know her. He did not know anything. 

He looked at his body: his five fingers, his long, matured legs and his firm, wiry muscles. He was old. He had lived a long time. His body told him that he must have done many things. Why couldn't he remember them? 

The white lady grew impatient and seized his hand. "Get up!" she ordered. The violation made him rage; he slapped her away and tried to think. 

Something was wrong. Something was missing from his mind and left him incomplete. Everything was missing! Panic shook his body and interrogated him with questions. _What's your name? Where's your home? Why are you alone? Why can't you remember, are you stupid? What's wrong with you? Don't shirk like that; answer me! Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?_

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, YOU STUPID HEDGEHOG!" 

His anger exploded in a scream that frightened his guardian. _"What did you do to me?"_

The white lady looked down with false bewilderment. She knew and she would not tell! He wanted to smash her, crush her perfect face! He wanted to destroy that perfect face with a name and a home and a past. It was too much for him to bear anymore. 

**

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**

Shadow started crying. The genocidal butcher just curled up like a little lost kitten and let out the waterworks in shaking sobs. Rouge could only look at him with complete disgust. Back on the ARK, she had questioned his sanity in abundance, but now … now, she didn't know what to think – this wasn't Shadow at all! 

He shivered. "Why can't I remember?" 

Her eyes flashed. Rouge dropped to his level. "Wait a sec. You – you don't remember me? What about the ARK, or, or Chaos Control, or," she paused hopefully. "Maria?" 

His fist caught her jaw. Already, he was regaining his icy strength. "Stop it!" he roared. "Stop it – it, it hurts!" The hedgehog fell on his side, tearing at his spines as though he could pull his lost memories out of his head. He rolled and clawed in agony of the unknown. 

Rouge suddenly had the key. He wasn't acting out of hate for his unsteady ally; he didn't want to kill her or have her captured. This was something more, bigger than one of his sob sessions for Maria. 

"Amnesia," she whispered. He couldn't remember anything! Well, this would make dragging him down to G.U.N. a whole lot easier! 

"Shadow, listen to me." She fought away his fists and made him look at her. "_Listen!_ That's your name, okay? Shadow. I'm Rouge, I'm your," she paused. "I'm your…" Should she risk it? 

"I'm your partner." 

He stared up at her in total confusion. "Partner?" 

She tightened her alibi with a compassionate smile. "Partners – that's right! Rouge and Shadow: world's greatest treasure hunters! Don't you remember all the times we had?" She cut off his negative. 

"Listen, I'll fill you in on everything later, but you have to come with me before more robots come to check on those two guys." She jerked a thumb at the oily corpses. 

"We're in danger?" 

"Lots of trouble. C'mon, I've still got to find the exit!" 

With her help, the hedgehog climbed to his feet. He didn't resist her any more, but Shadow was still too weak to walk. He slipped on the floor as though he wanted to skate away. Rouge draped his arm over her shoulder and helped him limp through the puddles. 

"My skates are in a container underneath the console. There's a handle, pull and it will come out." 

Rouge looked at him with shock. "How do you know?" 

Shadow seemed just as perplexed. "I … just … do." He would not mention what the whispers had told him. 

Sure enough, with a tug, a metallic storage box pulled from underneath the tube. Rouge saddled Shadow over one shoulder and held his belongings in her other hand, and they limped out of the birth chamber. 

**

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**


	11. Omega Of The E Series

The hurried march of Eggbots resonated throughout the bunker. With lances in tow and sensors set to the sharpest discrimination, there would be no saving repeat of the ignorant raccoon incident. Rouge wasn't sure how many were filing into Shadow's chamber, but they were surely outnumbered. 

But not outsmarted. "Why haven't they found us yet?" Shadow whispered from a dark corner. 

Rouge was nowhere as concerned about keeping a low profile. "Because they're checking on an alarm from that green-capsule room! They don't care about anyone in the room across the hall!" 

"Oh." The Ultimate Life Form fell into silent contemplation. "Are you certain?" he asked again. 

"They're stupid robots, Stupid. Now sit still and let me get these shoes on!" Robotnik had created some impressive replicas of Shadow's original attire (and they must have been reproductions, because Professor Gerald did not stamp his mug-shot on sneaker soles like a corporate logo.) Rouge shoved the levitating skates into place and pulled the manacled gloves over Shadow's weak fingers. To complete the dress-up was a wristlet set with a fiery, red stone. Rouge eyed this shrewdly. 

"Trade ya," she offered, jingling the jewel pouch on her belt. Shadow only shuffled further into the corner, mumbling some excuse while he clamped his peripheral to his wrist. 

"No, no, I … that is, I … I – I'm going to need this, if you don't mind." He was still terribly impressed and worried by the white lady, and though she was his partner, his instincts whispered for vigilance. 

Rouge just smirked back. "Whatever." It was almost cute how he tried to explain himself without bruising her feelings. This really, really was so unlike him. 

They listened a moment to the thunder of footsteps. Shadow's eyes were scrutinizing her. "You don't act like we're in any danger." 

The bat looked at him with gentle concern and patted his knee. "If you're scared, I can hold your hand." 

"NO!" 

Rouge laughed gaily. Now they were getting somewhere she remembered! "You sure?" she teased, creeping her fingers to his wrist and the ring. 

Shadow pulled his hand away. "You stay away from my things," he snapped. 

"SSHH!" Rouge hissed back. "Jeez, don't be so loud, they'll hear us!" 

"But you started…" 

Her finger zipped to his lips and hushed him. The mink could feel his skin burn under her handling, but she only turned her nose up and tested her echolocation on the door. 

She considered the sound waves, slightly distorted from the wall. "There are … two guards outside the door to your room. … Everyone else must be inside and looking." She stood up and stretched her wings. "Okay, time to move. I'll take the guards; you just make like a shadow and follow me." 

He refused her hand up, rising by the strength of his own legs. "I can fight," he growled, and took a few glides around the small passage to demonstrate. Rouge was impressed – only a few minutes ago, he couldn't even put on his mittens. 

"You heal up pretty quickly," she noted slyly. The cuts she'd slashed across his face were already brown scabs, and that was acknowledgement enough. 

"Okay Shadow, you can help … if you can get them first!" Rouge dashed through the automatic doors and attacked while Shadow waited for the order to go. The black hedgehog grimaced. She had dazzled and frightened him, but now this white lady was starting to annoy him. He skated out to survey her work. One of the overturned robots was beeping frantically and he kicked it to stop the distress signal. 

"Good boy," Rouge said with a tiny applause. She spun on her heel. "C'mon, the elevator's this way." 

"Coming, Madam," he jeered. This angel with black wings must have taught him great patience in his forgotten life. 

While they raced each other down the hallway, the security team came charging to the call of the fallen sentries. The front line scanned the broken bodies, picked up the fleeing intruder and rushed. 

Rouge stabbed the elevator's call button like a jackhammer. "C'mon … c'mon …" The Eggbots were gaining every second. She cursed fluently. 

Quiet at her side, Shadow observed the approaching ranks. A mad gleam seemed to kindle in his eye. "Leave this one to me," he smiled, and before she cold grab him, her new treasure skated off into combat. 

Rouge yelled at him to come back, and informed Shadow that he would kill himself. The new robots were elite: their armor was strong, and they could adapt to battle, punching and parrying at close range. But the Ultimate Life Form could not be stopped – Rouge could only watch as he rushed with a killing frenzy on his mind. 

The hallway forced the army to line up in triplets, and the first wave slowed their charge to meet the enemy. _He'll be skewered on those lances!_ Rouge thought. But the Eggbots stopped to a casual pose with weapons relaxed, and just before Shadow attacked, she swore she saw one raise a hand and salute… 

Then Shadow's hoverskates tore the front row apart, and the next line retaliated. The hedgehog was too agile, too nimble to be caught in their sensors and he weaved through their attacks like a dancer on performance. He felled another, dodged a bit and whipped his feet into the next line, and on it went: kicking and dodging, and Rouge wincing whenever her black gem came near death, until ten Eggbots lay on the floor, each head clipped off with an assassin's precision. 

Shadow glided back, and his stony face glinted pleasure at its corners. She quickly erased any strong amazement her features displayed. "Oh please – They came at you in rows! Now, if they all attacked at once…" 

He cut her off. "Elevator's here." 

Rouge glared daggers. She wasn't about to let an amnesic rodent get smug with her – especially not Shadow! "We would have been done faster if you just spun at them with that spine-ball trick you do," she retorted while the elevator doors closed. 

"Spine-ball?" 

"Uh! Don't tell me you can't remember that … spin-dash thing. And when did you study martial arts?" 

"You tell me, Partner." 

"No, serious – you never used Judo moves when I knew you." That was one truth he could credit to her. But Shadow just looked at her oddly. 

"That's how I remember fighting. It's like instinct to me." 

"Well I'm telling you: that's not your style, Partner." 

The accusation lingered in the air. Shadow breathed slowly, glowering at her with a face that hid all thought and emotion behind an icy scowl. One had better luck searching a robot's features. Rouge waited for his reply with a little more openness on her face than she preferred, but Shadow had no more to say. He frowned and withdrew behind his crossed arms. 

The match was a stalemate – Rouge didn't feel any superiority, only bother over this discovery without explanation. Each of them retreated to their minds to ponder. 

The lights flickered and cut out. "Power's gone," Shadow commented quickly. 

Rouge snarled, seizing her chance. "Nice work with that fight! You gave them enough time to call the entire base!" Her night vision adjusted and she saw the slit of the doorframe. "C'mon! Grab a side and pull!" 

The elevator was stuck halfway up the entrance to sub-floor three. The capsule began to heave: higher up on floor two, robots had forced the shaft open and were firing shots at the cab. Rouge sucked in her gut and crawled out into another dark hallway with egg-shaped doors. "Did we move at all?" Shadow asked, unaware of the identical design plan. 

"Move it!" Rouge ordered. The laser shots were getting dangerously accurate. 

"Are there stairs?" Shadow inquired, looking up and down the matching doors. "They won't open," he added in the same breath. 

"Password protected," Rouge seethed, staring down the keypad next to every door. 

Robots started dropping on the elevator and sticking their gun barrels through the space provided. Shadow flattened against the walls. Rouge dropped and dodged the hailfire. While his comrade fired, a second Eggbot crouched to enter the hallway. 

Rouge saw this. "Shadow! Get the gun!" 

The black blur slid down the wall and hammered his foot on the protruding gun arm. It snapped off at the wrist and Rouge moved in, setting her steel boots on the robots. The toy-like soldiers fell and their large bodies wedged in the entrance. More were dropping into position, pulling at the stuck corpses and preparing for assault. 

"Which door now?" 

"I'm working on that!" Rouge fired back. It hardly mattered – the entrances looked thick as armored tanks. They would have to fight up the elevator shaft, and she remembered how many robots had been stored on the second floor. 

Shadow could see no difference in their choice of doors, but he knew that the elevator - at the end of the hall - was important. What was behind that far-off door opposing the lift, and was it important enough that it deserved a wall to itself? He grabbed Rouge and started skating. 

Gun barrels poked through the elevator blockade and tested their luck. Shadow pumped his legs harder; Rouge's heels began to kick up sparks. At the other end of the hall, she vented everything. 

"You creep! I can move just fine, I don't need you to pull me! What are you doing now? You think you can crack the code on that keypad?" 

"Move!" 

A rocket fizzled down the hall and blew into the armored door. When the smoke settled, Rouge found herself pinned to the wall with black quills shielding her body. "Get off!" 

Shadow was not pleased that she slammed him into the opposite wall – it only upset the burns on his back further. But the pain would be worthwhile: "There's our exit!" The door had cracked down the middle, and a hole crumbled open under their footwork. Shadow and Rouge squeezed through. 

The keypad on the wall outside was conjoined to a sister console inside. Shadow attacked this with his fingers, looking to summon reinforcing security doors while his partner ran down the tunnel and into the main room. He heard the bat tear up the air with her effortless swearing, and he asked what was wrong. 

"Great pick, Shadow! This place is barley a broom closet! We're trapped!" 

He slid down the tiny path and into the chamber. It was very dark, with only random buttons and lights flashing on the wall. The main feature was a small, inclined plane leading to a circular pedestal with control panels for some unknown machinery. But that was all – in five steps he could cover the length of the room. "Isn't there another door?" 

Rouge threw her hands to the air. "Does it look like it?" She swore again and looked to the ceiling. "We'll have to try the vents." 

A hammering shook the room. "They're here!" Shadow gasped, and dashed away to defend the door. Battle cries resounded, and she heard him punching the keypad, trying to call down further security. Something large slammed down with the jarring whine of metal scraping metal. 

"It's jammed! This won't hold long! Find an air-duct bat!" She could hear the robots firing their weapons into the half-shut barricade. 

"Right!" Rouge would bitch at him later about handing out orders. There was enough of a break in the darkness to see the ventilation duct; she could reach and rip it off with some height. Rouge ran up the small incline to the elevated circle. 

The ground beneath her feet burst with powerful light. She shrieked, and in the outer hall, even Shadow grimaced at the intensity. The brilliance came from the round platform, exploding power like a demonic pentagram. Rouge squinted, and felt bands of laser sweep up and down her body, from boot to ear tip, then across her figure, from front to back. The beams sliced and dissected her measurements like a holographic scalpel, and the blinding instruments paid special care to sting her eyes. 

"Rouge, cut it out!" 

"I'm trying!" she snapped back, but she could feel the tug of a gravity generator locking her limbs into position. _I'm trying, I'm trying, I'm trying._ Her voice rebounded through her ears – an electronic echo was being passed through the machinery of the room. On the control panels, status bars were filling to completion. A wire-frame bat rotated on the monitors and downloads began. 

The light faded, and Rouge clutched her eyes as they struggled with immediate darkness. The battering of the door rang through her ears once again, as did Shadow's whining that he couldn't keep them out much longer. Rouge felt completely disoriented. 

Another light flicked on. This one was dim and comfortable, and it illuminated a hidden alcove in front of the platform, a secret that Rouge had overlooked. She wished it had never existed. The shelf in the wall contained a very big robot. 

The bands holding its arms and legs were popping loose, its motors were twitching to life, and its two red eyes were snapping on-line. The robot flexed its gears and stepped out of its casing. _Ka-chunk! Ka-chunk!_ Its legs were like pneumatic drills blasting at the ground. Rouge backed away from this impressive warrior. 

The giant mecha was some strange hybrid of an armor-plated knight and a biker punk. Its legs were thin and agile, with long flipper-feet and metallic cloths hanging to its knees. Its arms were massive as cannons, with broad, knightly shoulder-pads and spiked cuffs at its wrists. Its claws were large enough to grab her head and crush it like dough. Rouge inched down the incline, with her eyes fixed to this new doom. The robot looked at her with a face tucked into its torso – all but optics were concealed behind a black ventilator and a yellow, cap-like visor. Its attention was locked on the bat. 

The world outside their stares broke in: Shadow was yelling. "Rouge, what is going on back there?" He probably turned around at that point, because she heard him gasp. "Oh my …" He lacked the time to finish that. "Rouge: Get Away!" He flung himself into the room and at the monster. 

One swipe of its paw took down the hedgehog. Shadow slammed into the wall, screaming and clutching his left arm. The robot released a grating, synthesized roar at the attacker – a warning not to interfere with its prey. Its optics focused on the bat once more and it marched forward with cold determination. 

Rouge backed away until her wings were up against the wall. She looked up, and the robot towered over her like a metal giant. 

The funny things you noticed when oblivion came: its shoulder-pads were branded with a Greek rune that looked like Death's cloaked head. The symbol was Omega – The End of Everything. And now it was her end. She shut her eyes and looked away. 

The robot seized her hand in its enormous paw, and Rouge flinched to prepare for the crushing pain. The mech bowed down with one knee on the floor and leaned over until its respirator face touched the tip of her knuckles. Rouge opened her eyes, and then widened them some more. The robot was kneeling before her! 

"I await your command." 

The voice was no simple monotone: there were several lines of rich voices speaking together on individual pitches, blending and harmonizing into a lovely baritone. 

"What will you have me do, my Mistress?" 

Rouge couldn't even think straight, never mind speak. "I – ab-ab … uh …" 

Explosions rocketed the door. "They're breaking through!" Shadow cried against his pain, and crawled to heir last defense, ignoring whatever evil his partner was up against. He started yelling and the noise of hacking limbs entered the room. The robot was still at her feet, and Rouge was still at a loss of what to do. 

She gathered her wits. "What … what are you?" 

The robot stood tall and sprang into self-introduction. "Classification: All-Terrain, Heavy-Assault Mech! Badnik Series: E-100, mark III design! Assembly Division: R-45! Model Number: 1-2-3!" 

The mech stretched its posture and clenched its fist with pride. "Codename: Omega." Rouge followed with miniscule comprehension. 

She tried her luck. "Stand on one leg." E-123 raised its right leg and balanced. 

She tried again. "Spin your head." Omega rotated his headpiece in a full circle. Rouge grinned wickedly. 

"Jump up and down!" 

Her lackey gave a funny pause. "Do you wish this unit to attain a specific displacement from the ground?" 

Rouge's face began to tremble, and she shook until she laughed! "Who am I?" she asked, for confirmation. 

"You are my Mistress. I await your next command. … May I put my leg down?" 

Rouge's laugh turned into a wicked cackle that caught the attention of Shadow. "Rouge, I need back-up!" 

Omega was peering down the corridor, where the black hedgehog had managed to slam the security doors shut again. "Incoming transmission," he announced. "I am receiving multiple hailing frequencies. 30 Egg Pawn-class units requesting access to this location." The lummox turned to Rouge. "Shall I comply?" 

Rouge snapped her orders like lightning. "No!" She repeated for emphasis. "No, no, no NO! Don't you dare let your buddies in or they'll kill us!" 

Omega processed this. "Termination of Mistress is incompatible with primary objectives. Do you wish to designate all Egg Pawns as enemies?" 

Rouge had a new favorite gem. "Yes," she hissed greedily. 

Omega nodded. "Confirmed." Before Rouge could ask why, he stomped out of the room and to the door. "Please step aside, Shadow-Zero." The hedgehog stared perplexed at the mecha. Rouge pulled him aside. Shadow gasped, but she ignored his broken arm. The bat hushed for silence and watched Omega approach the thundering door. 

The E-Series raised his arms and clenched his fists. His hands retracted into their sockets with a bit of clicking and whirring. For their replacements, out came two short cylinders, mounted on a central screw and sub-divided into six barrels. The new appendages began to spin and whine. 

"Weapon systems primed! Preparing to engage!" Omega had only to look and beep at the controls and the security doors opened with a hiss. Thirty heavily armed Egg Pawns stood guard outside, and each one looked up at the massive E-Series and awaited his report on the situation. 

E-123 Omega swept a red laser over each Pawn and lowered his arms at their heads. In his baritone voices, Rouge could hear him grin with mad satisfaction. 

"Destroy!" 

The hall blasted into chaos under the powerful sweep of duel chain-guns. Rouge covered her ears and clenched her eyes against the flash of laser fire. Explosions blossomed and body parts flew wild. She couldn't hear any return fire – Omega was mowing them down like a tractor! Shadow watched with barefaced amazement. 

Rouge poked him for attention. "If you're a good little Ultimate Life Form, maybe I'll let you play with him sometime!" 

"Ultimate what?" But Rouge was too giddy to listen. There was always, always, always – even in the darkest hour – _always_ a way out. And sometimes, it came with missile launchers. 

**

||||||||||

**


	12. Robot Swarm

Omega took tall and careful strides through the muck of blown-apart Egg Pawns, making every effort to keep his arms at a fine balance. The bat his newly-burned programming identified as Master sat back in the palm of his hand where she could avoid any sullying. Her legs were kicked up and relaxed on his curled fingers. 

Shadow had to wade through the corpses though, and he was none too happy about the new divide between the black angel and himself. "I guess I was just her muscle," he muttered to himself, forgotten by the others. His arm hurt badly and he needed to ask Rouge to examine it, but his partner was occupied, laughing frivolously and fawning over her new toy as though they'd been long friends. 

"Love your work, Omega! Absolutely marvelous what you've done with those boys!" 

"Acknowledged, Mistress." Shadow got the feeling that she could spit on ee-wuntoo-three and he would still return that phrase of loyalty. 

"Now, Omega darling, you wouldn't happen to know the way out of this base, would you?" 

"Scanning internal maps for the nearest exit! Please wait … …" 

Shadow took the opportunity to glide up and speak with Rouge. His forehead was sweating. "Something's wrong with my arm," he panted, wincing as he held up his floppy limb for show. 

The bat gave a look down. He had two elbows, it seemed. "It's broken, Shadow," she replied from her hand-held recliner. 

"Broken!" he exclaimed. The robots all over the floor were "broken". Was this his end? Would he be maimed forever? "C-can't you fix it?" 

His panic amused her. "No, but it'll heal in time. Keep it still for now – you don't want to upset it any more." 

"_Any more?_ It's like there's needles shooting in my arm!" 

The robot Omega swiveled his head to the side; Shadow returned the glare of his optics. "Mistress," the titan began, "do you wish me to terminate the pursuing unit?" Omega raised his gun-arm to sweeten the offer. 

Shadow's instincts took over. "Try it, robot!" he sneered in challenge. The hedgehog dropped back to defensive; Omega activated his laser scope. 

Rouge bolted upright. "Whoa, whoa! No! Stand down!" Omega immediately retracted his gun-appendage. Rouge glared at them both and shook her head at the robot. "Omega, Shadow is our friend. And my partner," she added, as though in after-thought. "If he dies, I'm going to be very disappointed with you." 

Shadow nodded to himself. So he was more than a business ally to the bat. 

Omega extended peace as quickly as he could extend a weapon from his hands. "Confirmed! Shadow-Zero designated friendly unit!" 

The wounded hedgehog gave another frown. "Is that my last name? Why does he keep calling me that?" 

"Because _I'm_ Number One around here." A playful smirk followed the bat's retort. "Silly. Omega, how's that exit coming?" 

"Escape route confirmed," he announced, and gestured to the elevator shaft their walk had brought them before. "We must ascend." 

Shadow didn't need any whispering voices to warn him against that. "We can't! Who knows how many robots are up there!" 

"Understood. Please wait … … Enemies Targeted!" The E-Series raised his chain-gun arm, and a stubby, red cone popped out of the central screw like bread from a toaster. Omega raised his arm and fired the smart bomb up the elevator shaft. There was a rattle from sub-floor two, followed by some falling robot pieces and concrete. 

Rouge shrieked and hugged the robot's arm. "That settles it: you're a keeper!" 

"Since we're partners, he'll listen to both of us, right?" 

Rouge hummed over his comment with her face scrunched up in the pretense of strenuous effort, but Omega jolted the idea from her head when he placed her on the ground. "Hey, what gives?" she griped to her walking footstool. 

"We must proceed to sub-floor one, my Mistress. I will ascend first to secure the perimeter." Omega turned and considered the obtrusive, half-arrived elevator blocking his hulking frame. He pointed his index finger, let the digit snap to the size of a blade, and hacked through the cables in a single stroke. Shadow and Rouge gawked as the elevator disappeared down the black shaft, releasing a clang like distorted church bells. Omega powered up the jet-boosters on his back and flew up the tunnel with various arm-gadgets primed for a fight. 

"Ladies first," Shadow said none-too-politely. 

Rouge gave a dainty little peek into the duct and glanced around for some sort of rope or uneven surface to climb. "Well," Shadow hemmed. "You fly, don't you?" 

"I prefer working with air thermals," she replied, as though she were an educated connoisseur on the subject. "But I suppose you think I suck blood and sleep in a coffin too. I'm a _bat_," she reiterated. "I _glide_." 

"You can't fly?" 

"I can fly!" She sniffed the air and turned up her haughty nose. "I just need a boost first." 

"Then get out of my way," he sneered, and hopped into the shaft. Before she could finish her gasp, Shadow hovered back up with yellow jets ignited on the soles of his skates. 

"What about me?" she demanded. Shadow shrugged his good arm, kicked his heels and accelerated up the chute. 

Rouge made an ugly face and sighed. "Great, just great." She peered at the far wall of the elevator shaft, squinting to check for any ladders. White hoverskates dropped before her face. She jumped. 

Shadow the Hedgehog was radiating a dark smile and chuckling quietly. Not a good sign, considering all the pleasures that bettered the sadist's mood – murder, pain, global genocide … "Mortal after all," he nodded, and extended a gloved hand. 

"Going up, partner?" 

Rouge had made so many mistakes on her part, but Shadow played his role so perfectly – he even reminded her of the responsibility she held in his story. "Gladly, partner." 

Shadow clamped his hand over hers, and Rouge wrapped her free hand around his waist, making sure to cling tightly so she could give his bad arm a friendly squeeze. 

**||||||||||**

The top floor of the bunker was clear, but Rouge found Omega with weapons ready anyway. His headpiece swiveled left and right like a mounted security camera, only Omega moved in suspicious jerks, snapping his optics from wall to wall, paranoid that something was sneaking past while he looked away. "Are we clear?" she asked. 

Her voice alone made him cease his neurotic behavior. Omega spun around – first head, then torso, then legs – and straightened up with crisp attention. "Sub-floor one: secure for passage!" He declared this proudly, as if it were his dangerous glaring that had scared the empty hall into order. "We must exit the bunker and proceed to the tower." 

Shadow hissed sharply as he nursed the pain in his arm. "We're underground?" the amnesic hedgehog asked between gritted teeth. Rouge tuned him out. 

"After that?" 

"Please wait … … Final Egg generators off-line. All exits locked down. … We must construct an alternate means of escape." 

Rouge smiled. "More like deconstruct, if I get your drift." She hoped Omega was installed with maps of the jungle, because she didn't have a clue of where to go once outside. The bat listened carefully for the rest of the mech's plan, but Omega was taking some time to continue his speech – probably processing their next move. So she stood idly for a moment, catching her breath and cracking her knuckles. 

"Well?" 

Shadow jostled her from that leisure moment. He was watching her, and so was Omega. They were waiting. 

Lost and unaware, Rouge just stared back at the pair of newborns. Then she blinked, and her perspective began to shift; it was as though she were growing taller, rising up above even the titan Omega. Rouge gained in height, and the two creatures adjusted their gaze to look up at her. She blinked again, and saw how things really were. Her skin tingled as though filled with a delightful electric power. 

"Well, let's not waste any more time, shall we?" Rouge shot her finger at the armored entrance of the bunker. "Move it!" 

"At once, Mistress!" 

"About time," Shadow said, his loyalty whispered from behind a sneer. 

The door was pulled aside, and Rouge bounded up the stairs, two at a time. Shadow followed, hopping up and holding his injured arm and Omega tiptoed at the rear, careful to shimmy his hands up the guide rail. The small steps were not to the advantage of the long-footed mech. 

Twelve flights up, they were back at the unimpressive emergency exit, and Rouge yanked it open, relieved to finally leave the dangers of the secret bunker. 

They could have been outside already and been none the wiser. The elevator shaft, tall as Final Egg and wide as a sitting room, was filled with the lights and sounds of the Corvalis nightline. 

The hum of engines and fans filled the air, as did the many lights of mechanical sentinels. Hoverpods shone a single beam, but these concrete stars came in pairs of piercing blue eyes. It seemed as though they had walked into a dark field lit with the flash of fireflies. Shocked, stunned, eyes gaping with disbelief, Rouge scanned the swarm of glowing orbs, and Shadow and Omega came to her sides and felt the unease of their leader. In the faint light that shone down, the silver tips of lances were like shards of lightning, and the sky was filled with the electric tension. 

Omega swung his arms up and opened fire. But his shots only plinked and ricocheted, flicking yellow sparks off the shields held by the front line. The fireflies continued to bob in the air. The E-Series staggered back, as if his ineffectual shots had turned around and wounded himself. Omega was lost. 

The slice of lighting peeled through the air, and lances fell to ready. 

Shadow's breath was like frost. His head turned slowly, as though moving through molasses, and his unfastened eyes looked for escape. Omega took another languid step back, and the impact shuddered through Rouge's ears, as if the very floor trembled. Shadow moved his mouth, but the hammer of her heart throbbed over every sound. She could see the mad eyes moving for them, crunching the dust under their metal feet, and all Rouge could hear was the thump of her heart, growing slower and weaker with every step. 

Shadow's mute face trembled. Omega searched for release. Over the last beats of her life, Rouge opened her mouth, and pushed everything away, exhaling the tension in her chest and blowing it away on the wings of a fresh breeze. She took a breath. 

Time slowed no longer. "GET THEM!" 

Rouge charged the robots with screams thundering in her wake, and she crashed through their ranks like waves over the rocks. Her feet lashed through the air, slashing the Egg Pawns and beating the hordes away. She was not alone: Shadow leapt through the air like a wildcat. His throat screeched and his burning feet moved with the swift flash of a blade. To her frothing waves, he was black lightning. The air ripped with the cry of an army of deep voices, and Omega rushed into the fray with all the primal might of the mountains at his command. 

Rouge could only remember flashes of the chaos that followed. She spun left and right, fighting to keep a perimeter from the mad eyes and the darkness that swarmed her like black ants. She heard Shadow's screams. Sometimes it was the bloodlust; sometimes it was his arm, or a further injury. Heads flew as the black assassin cut through the swarm. 

She saw Omega, clutching the tip of a lance in his fist. In the air was an Egg Pawn clinging tenaciously to the hilt, and Omega swung the robot and stick like a mace, cleaving through entire waves of enemies in single strokes. 

Rouge remembered hands grabbing at her shoulder. Fast as she could jerk them away, another would tear at her wings and swipe at her ears and yank at her elbow, and for every hand she escaped, two more seized and pulled at her limbs, hoping to tear her apart. 

Her steel-laced feet kicked and struck harder the more she was pulled under. She felt air and freedom. A hand made a final swipe at her belt. Rouge felt a jerk, but she pulled away with ease. 

She saw the hand fly back with a velvet pouch as its prize. The drawstrings flapped open and jewels rained through the air like droplets of water. Precious crystal and gems sprinkled to the ground. Rouge dropped her jaw and shot out her hand. The world suddenly closed in on all sides – she saw nothing but her spilled treasures, and leapt in a state of total fixation to get them back. 

The ignored robots seized and pulled her to the ground, pinning her arms. Rouge fought her binds, empowered by desperation. She did not see the Egg Pawns marching to spear her body until their steel boots came into view behind her littered jewels. The approaching doom made her jerk and rage all the stronger, and she nearly broke free, but one misplaced footstep was enough to swallow her children in darkness and grind them into dust. 

Rouge was far away, high on a desert hill, battling among the ruins of sand for her prize, for the beauty and wealth of the Master. In one instant, perfection was seized into the sky. With one swipe of a clawed fist, order exploded into shards of glass, the fragments of her dream whipping through the sky and raining over the barren wasteland. She had screamed then, seeing the destruction of all she held dear, and now, she screamed again. 

Omega flew from behind her, hammering the Egg Pawns and knocking back the swarm, but he'd come too late to protect her. Rouge crawled through the oily wreckage in a scatterbrained mess, to the crater of glittering powder. Her fingers brushed through the stardust with slow delicacy – surely one had survived! 

The flattened bracelet shed its crushed diamonds like snakeskin. The pearls, the jade, the ruby; all had been pulverized into a rainbow of ash. Rouge sifted around and picked out the gold ring – robbed of its pearl crown and compressed into an ugly band of metal. 

She had cleaned them, cared for them, kept them safe from the thieving eyes of the world. They had given her wealth and beauty and everything that was wonderful. Cold darkness surrounded Rouge. Never in her life had she felt so violated. 

Around her, the fight raged, but she went ignored, hunched over on the floor and staring into a pool of broken dreams. 

Her fingers swept the grit of her treasures into a pile, mimicking the careful collecting of the echidna. She touched her palm to the ruins, but this could not be restored. She had no power over this dust. 

**||||||||||**

Shadow's foot hammered at the face of his fallen opponent. The Egg Pawn had stopped moving some time ago, but he still hacked away until the head dislocated from its joint and oil drizzled from the wound. _It can't survive without its head,_ whispered the voices. The instinctive lesson in combat could be applied to mechanoids as well as organics. 

He took no rest from the fight, and crouched low, scanning for the next enemy to pounce. Glaring red eyes took in the mess of robots and the still air. None were left to challenge him. The battle was won. 

To his left, the robot Omega took careful precaution (and great delight) ensuring that every last Egg Pawn was non-functional, by jumping up and down and stomping the corpses into scrap metal. The assault mech cheered a slogan of destruction every time he landed. "Eliminate! Decimate! Annihilate! TERMINATE!" 

Shadow took a cautious step towards the busy bee, and Omega's free-moving optics flicked up at the hedgehog. His diodes blasted to green, perhaps emoting surprise, because Omega's smashing suddenly lost its bright enthusiasm. "Obliter … Err… Erradi… …" The titan's bouncing died away with his voice, leaving the creaking of his egg pawn springboard to fill the awkward silence. 

The mech straightened up quickly. "All enemy units destroyed," he announced with new restraint and professionalism. "Mission complete!" 

The black hedgehog searched his companion with a puzzled glare. "Good," he finally grunted, and proceeded to ignore the E-100 unit. While his eyes roved around the battlefield, Shadow's keen ears detected the hollow thunk of a kick, and the muted shout of "Annihilate!" as Omega snuck in a final stomp for good luck. 

"Are you damaged?" the mech inquired. 

"My arm doesn't hurt anymore." His body had sustained too many fresh wounds for the screams of his broken bone to be of any more interest. 

Omega didn't seem convinced, though. "Your wound requires immediate immobilization. Allow me to prepare a sling." 

"No. No … thank you," Shadow replied quickly. He wouldn't trust this killing machine. "I can handle it," he rambled. "If I just hold my arm still like this, it feels all right." 

"Are you sure you want to quit first-aid?" rang back the automatic double-check. 

"Yeah." The worst of it had already clotted with scabs, and he would endure the pain in front of the machine. But where was the vital link of their group? "Rouge!" 

Omega's scanners spotted her quite effectively, and Shadow followed his approach to the fallen seraph. Her wings were twisted into crooked shapes, and she was smeared black, as though an oil slick had swept her up and dumped her broken body in the middle of the battlefield. Shadow called her name, and finally shook her body, but the black angel was dead as the robots they'd fought. 

"Is she all right?" he checked with Omega. Shadow hated his ignorance, and the dependence on strangers that it thrust upon him. 

The robot's optics gave a noisy sweep over the sickly bat, stroking her fingers through a pile of dust. "Subject is suffering severe mental trauma. Please step away: my databanks include a supplement on care for organics." 

Omega moved slowly and scooped her into his monstrous arms with surprising gentleness, cradling the bat against his chest like a child. A soothing hum, like the calm blow of the sea rushed out of his voice synthesizer. While Omega's paws stroked her vacant face, Shadow was reminded of the same deep affection Rouge had displayed when she'd caressed the flaming ring on his wrist. 

Omega broke his comforting song to address him. "I must transport my Mistress to a safe location where she may heal. Level Forty leads to the docking bays where you may exit the tower." The robot turned to leave the hedgehog to his own escape. 

"Farewell, Shadow-Zero. Success on your mission." 

Shadow glared at the mention of his alternate name, but more so at the anomaly that had followed. A Mission? He didn't like the familiarity he was addressed with, but Bat and Machine seemed to carry equal knowledge of his secret past. Rouge had mentioned forgotten work that they had shared, but nothing of this nature. Purpose. That title carried all the weight of the world: there was something only he could complete. Shadow looked down on his blood-streaked body, wondering what it could be that he was set apart for. 

He thought of the whispers and everything he accepted as instinct, and he grew very afraid. "Wait, Robot!" 

Omega stopped and turned his headpiece dutifully. "Standing by." 

"I'm coming with you." The white lady was not the only one who would owe him answers. 

Omega studied him a while. "Is this your final decision?" 

"Absolutely," he replied without hesitation. "She's my partner." He did not yet know what life they had shared as Treasure Hunters, but she had come down to this dark place to find him, so their bond must have been fierce. "I won't leave her," he warned E-123. "She's all I have left." 

Omega considered these words in silence. Within his hull, the assault mech was weighing the risks and benefits of consorting with this unit, and pulling up data-tracks concerning his Mistress' attitudes. The sub-objective to safeguard Shadow-Zero clinched everything. 

"Are you flight-capable?" he inquired. 

"Only for a short while," the organic replied, tapping his heel in the floor and producing a small burst of levitating energy. 

"Understood. Please wait. … …" Some estimative number-crunching proceeded. "Additional weight negligible to aerial performance. Please take hold of my frame." Omega bent low so the hedgehog could sling its chassis over his shoulder-pad and take hold of the handle atop the armor. With both passengers secured, E-123 activated his jet boosters and began ascension though the abandoned tower. 

The friendly unit was powerful, Omega decided. Yes, it would be a benefit to the safety of his Mistress, all the more so because the unit had forged a protective link towards her, one perhaps equaling his own oath of loyalty. 

And just as they held the organic bat in equal esteem, Mistress evidently saw no distinction between Shadow the Hedgehog and E-123 Omega. 

**||||||||||**


	13. Shards Of Life

Omega flew them across the jungle, to the far-away borders of the Mystic Ruins. The trees halted abruptly for a logging company. They went further still, up the rolling plains to the north and descended on a small, coastal settlement. Thunder clapped and rain pelted the earth. The storm had arrived. 

Rouge's E-Series protector scanned the outskirts and identified a house emptied for renovations. He deposited Shadow and his Mistress in the dark mansion sectioned off by plastic tarps and scratchy wooden floors. The hedgehog watched over her while the machine searched for a first-aid kit. 

She barely flinched as they cleaned off her wounds and splinted her tattered wings. The world seemed so very far away. 

"Will she live?" Shadow inquired from behind the mech's shoulder. Omega was bent down on his knees, dabbing a cotton swab over the bat's injuries like an artist touching up a painting. Despite his monstrous bulk, his gears operated with a surgeon's refinement. 

"Blood loss has been averted," the machine answered dutifully. Omega had ripped the medicine cabinet off the bathroom wall, and now he rummaged around his new toolbox for a final bandage. "Injuries are non-threatening," he continued, and Shadow helped his large hands peel open the tiny packet. "Probability of infection remains. Suggest continual monitoring of vital stats for one week. All flight operations must be cancelled." 

Rouge watched them from what seemed a great distance, and with what reasoning was left in her cold, wretched mind she wondered why they were doing this for her. Hallucinations took hold of her vision, and Omega came through in a furry, purple haze with yellow, lamp-like eyes. 

She was too overwhelmed to give their worried interrogations any response, and so after great reluctance, they left her. 

Omega was upstairs now, thundering above her head as he marched from window to window, keeping guard for what he saw as an inevitable retaliation. Rouge had no strength left to argue against the machine or to explain how the secret bunker was too weak to launch a counter-strike. The scene of her crushed jewels and the wasted wealth had drained her mind. She just sat on the floor, frozen in a vacant stare. 

Hours passed and ugly weather blew through the house. At times, she would break her shellshock and stroke her fingers through her empty palm, but she did not regain her sanity. Omega just patrolled. There wasn't much to him besides a fierce devotion to his 'Mistress' and a willingness to serve. 

Shadow made his arm a sling from a towel, and explored the house for some time, maybe in awe of the new architecture and settings. She didn't know how much of his fundamental knowledge was intact, and whether the smell of sawdust was something new to be discovered. He checked on her every now and then, no doubt itching to ask her questions that she lacked the energy to answer. The most coherent response he got was a mumble that grew into "yeah." 

Some of her core defenses stood, and when he tried to pull off her slippery glove, Rouge woke and batted him away, demanding to know what he was doing. Shadow shrunk away immediately, startled by her new consciousness and by the pain he associated with the white lady. It took him some courage to speak against her authority. 

"They're filthy," he explained, pointing to the half-empty fingertips of leather. Only then did she notice all the mud and grime she had passed through, which had left her snowy gloves black and ruined. Shocked, she looked down on herself but could not find any colour. The weeks had destroyed her beauty. 

"My face?" she asked timidly. Shadow gave a soft smile. 

"A little red and you'd make a good hedgehog." His words missed their intended target, and she grew ill. Rouge gave no further resistance. 

Shadow tried poorly to keep a calm face, and she could read just how disgusting it was to pull off her gloves one finger at a time. Her sweaty hands were oddly clean, with clear lines dividing the grime past her wrists. Scars would grow over her skin, and her hands would be all that was left untainted. Her nausea spread, but Shadow only continued his work. 

With a modest tremble, he unclipped the belt at her hips. The black hedgehog moved to her feet, and he could not suppress his retching when he popped off her foul boots. He was so awful that Rouge felt a distant urge to cry. If he hoped to abuse her in this weakened state, his plan was succeeding. 

Shadow arranged her things neatly and left, returning with a paint-stained drop cloth bundled in his functioning arm. "I'm sorry there's nothing better," he apologized, as though their living conditions were his fault. 

Self-discovery left her too dazed to fight, so her body obeyed the guidance of his hand and drifted to rest on her side. His gentle care was like nothing she could remember, and it made her shiver. Shadow flapped the blanket through the air and let it drape over her form, making certain she was covered comfortably. 

"I can't tell you anything." 

He did not understand the truth she had revealed in a slip of weakness. Shadow just nodded compassionately. "When you're rested, and we're some place safe. … We probably did this often, roughing it, living on the edge?" 

Rouge gave a non-committal grunt. She was gone once more. Shadow bowed his head in failure. 

"I'll … I'll be in the next room." He hesitated a moment, then decided there was nothing more to say. Shadow walked away with a failed look. "Sleep well, Partner." 

While his footsteps faded, she was able to hold back everything – it was natural as lying. But once Shadow left the room she had to moisten the blanket against her eyes. 

She told herself she was overstressed: The horrible night of fighting and loss had weakened her, and this was the only way she could relieve the awkward emotions she felt. And yet, her jewelry seemed so distant from her thoughts. There was only Shadow. 

When was the last time someone had wished her peace and rest? Vengeance, she recalled. Payback came to mind, and she had a taunt for every threat and curse that came her way. All except this: "Sleep well, Partner." 

The words repeated in her head, the resonance stirring up old memories. She remembered a sleepy little girl snuggled up in Mama's lap, nestled safely in a hug while a lullaby hummed through the air. She remembered soothing smiles, not unlike what the hedgehog had shared with her. 

_Oh God,_ she thought, the name only an expression of incredulity, _I'm fantasizing about that little puke again._ The sloppy sentimentality disgusted her, and Rouge steeled her will, thinking about how that girl had grown – grown into so much more. 

She lived alone, without anyone to coddle her. She'd grown strong and sure of herself. She could take whatever she wanted. She'd become rich and beautiful. She was not the radiant princess of her dreams – but she dazzled anyhow, thieving secrets for the military. 

And every night, she bolted the doors to one of her many apartments, barred the windows, activated the security systems and pulled up the floorboards to hide away her treasures. She would slip off to bed – a knife beside the alarm clock – and fall asleep when she grew exhausted of preparing for tomorrow. 

She thought of the peaks, the opportunities: she'd met the President of the United Provinces, she'd seen the world, she'd played everyone she knew for a chump and gotten away with it – the military, The Doctor. Even when they caught her, they couldn't keep her. All her troubles were a passing breeze. Drag her down, but she would be back: back for another jewel, back for revenge; backed into a corner until there was no one on her side but herself. 

And suddenly, it occurred to her that she was not happy. 

Rain drizzled over the derelict house. Rouge looked around, aware of the ugly reality of her world. Even that weak, sappy child she so faintly remembered had more than her. Hell, that girl had everything a loving family could lavish her with. And she never had to hide anything, or be suspicious of anyone, or keep a mask over her true self. It was a place where loved ones would shoulder your pain, a place where you didn't have to hoard secrets to find your worth. 

She couldn't think of anyone who would help her now, not without expecting payment. 

She couldn't remember being happy. Not for many years, now. 

Rouge tossed the blanket away and sat up, looking over her body, wondering what she had to flaunt after all these years. Here she was – ugly and outlawed, with broken wings on her back. Hiding out in a stranger's home with no food or money, just two of the strangest companions one could ever travel with. 

Omega was still upstairs, keeping watch while she slept. 

Shadow. 

A sudden revelation came over Rouge, as when she'd discovered his amnesia: He worshiped her – bringer of knowledge, emissary of pain – as though she was some angel from above. 

With that sudden thought, the world witnessed through the eyes of another burst through her mind, and Rouge had an unnatural pang of … of something rotten, down at her core. She felt parched and empty. 

She could see him being seized by commandos, dragged away screaming into an armored truck. But the vision was strong – she saw, and she felt. He was screaming for her – for her help. And she only waved amiably, a smug smile on her traitorous face, while the soldiers carted him off to be dissected and studied in a military lab. 

She was inside Shadow's mind, looking on herself, and she felt disgust at the wretched sight. 

The tears bled down her face. The forgotten instinct of compassion was burning her inside. She wiped the salty droplets away, and a smudge of blackness came off with it. 

She promised then and there that she would not go through with the plan. She would tell Shadow the truth. Tell him who she really was and everything she truthfully knew of his past. And if she had to hunt down The Doctor to squeeze out the rest of Shadow's memories, she would do it! 

The promise stuck in her mind. She would do it for Shadow, for the only thing she had left. 

Rouge only wished she were not so tired. She wanted to wake him now, tell him everything. Her eyelids were so heavy… … 

**

||||||||||

**


	14. Final Revelation

Rain tore at the earth for a violent eternity and thunder split the sky. But the fierce emotions of the land could not last – eternity translated into hours, and soon the heavens could weep no longer. The storm passed away, leaving broken moonlight to illuminate the land. The celestial watcher scarcely kept its crescent eye open – it was a cold entity, observing the world with tired detachment. 

On the Earth below, a similar eye opened. Rouge stretched her body and woke. She grunted, and covered the spasm of pain at her side. God, she was stiff! She wondered why on earth for, and she pursed her brow, confused over the foreign scent of wood in her bedroom. 

Bits and pieces of the past began to fill her memory. She opened her eyes with quick alert, and got an eyeful of the rundown house of plywood. She recalled the two weeks trapped with the cat, her accidental trek into the depths of the jungle tower, and the giddy excitement of kidnapping Shadow and Omega. Her body reminded her that the experience had been far from a pleasant time, and she grimaced over the stiffness of her bandaged joints. 

Rouge tossed aside her blanket and sat up slowly. She faintly recalled making an important decision before she dropped to sleep, but that frenzy of activity in her mind was now thin as smoke. It was difficult to remember her earlier convictions. A nonchalant shrug. _Oh well._ So much had happened; she needed to think things through. 

She considered the tragedy that had sent her into devastation earlier this night: Her jewels had been shattered. Crushed in a single footstep. The memory made her sigh, but now she was able to step away from her initial distress and look over things calmly. Yes, she had worked hard to liberate those jewels, and she had devoted so much time to their care, but really – were they so terribly important that she had to break down and die? 

She cringed, recalling what a weeping whiner she had been earlier. They were just stones, after all, and she had much nicer ones in so many other hiding spots around the Provinces. Now _those_ unguarded children were something to concern about; she had to collect them all before her secret caches were discovered. 

The thought was enough to stir the bat into action. So it was back to the initial plan – sneak into the cities, empty her coffers and get out of the country. Rouge got on her feet to explore the house. Right now she had less than ever before, but she would work her way up from nothing, now that her mind was locked on a goal. Rouge sauntered about, taking an inventory of everything the house could offer her, and making a mental shopping list of everything else she'd need. 

The bathroom still had running water. She took a long drink and splashed her face. Black rivets of oily liquid ran down the drain. _Soap._ That was the first thing she'd need. Looking in the mirror at her blackened face, she snorted and chastised herself once more for her earlier panicking. Mud and dirt would wash off and her wings would sew themselves back together. And scarring? There were creams she could buy that would lessen their marks, and what was left could be concealed behind alluring garments. There was nothing to grow sick over. 

_Clothes – something black and stealthy, something casual. Painkillers. A passport. Someplace to hide out. A computer._ Her shopping list grew. She gave no thought to that ridiculous promise made in a moment of stupid sorrow. Hunt down Gerald Robotnik's grandson to learn everything she could about Shadow's lost past. It was sweet and idealistic, but she didn't want that burden – she had her own problems to take care of first. 

But maybe this time, she could have help. At the foot of the staircase, she found Omega – powered down in hibernation, with his torso slumped on an angle and his arms hanging in defeat. Apparently the night had been too much for even his endurance. Her eyes drifted over him lovingly, taking in all the secret weapon-housing compartments on his towering frame. G.U.N. would have to break this soldier before they ever arrested her. Rouge patted his chest and let him rest for the new day. 

_Oil, tools._ Her little helper would have to be in top condition. _And a disguise._ Robots were the popular minority to persecute these days. 

Once again, her thoughts focused on Shadow. She was not so hysterically emotional about him this time, nonetheless, her sudden compulsions to protect him – keep him from her former employers – remained. It would be risky business, consorting with G.U.N. and hoping they'd play fair. 

She marched into the next room, dark, but not unoccupied. Shadow was sprawled over a couch, sleeping in the nude. Moonlight trickled from the tarp-covered window, and his body glistened with sweat. Rouge frowned, concerned that his night had been a poor rest. 

He'd saved her life – fighting back the Egg Pawns, shielding her against the burn of that rocket explosion, leaping against Omega when the end seemed near. Rouge couldn't help but sigh wistfully over the memory of his sweet chivalry. 

Why give up that pure loyalty? The more Rouge thought about Shadow, the more she wanted to keep him. Without the Immortality Project, those traitors in the Intelligence Division would be forever scarred with failure. And The Doctor would be so furious to learn his little trophy had been stolen, he'd be throwing tantrums! She grew giddy, thinking about how she could spite them all by hiding Shadow. 

In fact, she rationalized, Shadow would be all the better with her. What past did he have that was so wonderful to remember? His hand set the detonators that killed every man and woman on Prison Island. His malice tricked them all, collecting the chaos emeralds to power the ARK's engines for free-fall. Nothing but blood and fifty years of ice – she was doing him a favor through deception. 

He'd be safe and looked after, and she'd give him a future so rich that the past would lose all its allure. All he had to do was accept her stories and help her reclaim her fortunes. And if he wanted to leave after that, she would be open to the consideration of the pondering of that possibility. 

The future blossomed with hope. No one would stop her with The Ultimate Life Form and the Final E-Series unit as her enforcers. And if she found a chaos emerald… Her lips spread with a trembling smile. Rouge tried to hold it back, but she couldn't bear restraint. Girlish giggling erupted from her jovial face. With a chaos emerald in Shadow's paw, she could be invincible! Her mind flooded with possibilities. 

The bat turned to Shadow, still asleep despite all her noise. His nightmares must have been truly draining. Rouge tsked, thinking about the poor baby, and sauntered over to stroke his unfortunate head. 

Shadow shot a hand out and around her throat. She gagged. With startled eyes, Rouge grabbed his wrist and pulled against his grip. This time he was stronger, merciless, and her eyes were starting to go black, but she escaped with a fierce tug and tumbled to the floor, panting. 

"You bastard!" Vengeance gleamed in her fixated eyes. She was about to throw her weight into his rib cage when she realized that Shadow was still snoozing peacefully. 

He was asleep. Rouge stepped away, her incredulous eyes understanding now the danger of this monster she had liberated. She'd heard stories about this sort of thing – all the veterans from major combat had stories of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or something. Memories of fighting and terror so strong, they etched into your brain as instinct. And this vengeful little beastie was so jumpy or sadistic that he tensed for killing while he slept! Rouge ground her fangs and paced the floor, fighting the temptation to kick him and set him straight. 

_Tell him the truth – yeah right!_ Shadow was ready to strangle her in his sleep. If he ever found out that she was lying to him – if he ever lost his fear of Angelic pain, if he ever began to doubt her enlightenment – he would snap her neck for being deceived so blatantly. 

She reconsidered the deal for amnesty with G.U.N. There was no profit to keeping this secret if it would kill her. But easy retirement and the power of Chaos Control were too tempting. _If anything happens,_ she reasoned, … _well, Omega wouldn't let it happen._ His devotion would be everlasting. 

Massaging her crushed windpipe, Rouge added another item to her list. _A Past._ Her story needed to be airtight to keep Shadow in line, to keep him from running away or turning against her. And if in the end, he didn't appreciate her efforts to give him a better life – if he dared rebel against his guardian angel – she would cast him back to Hell, back to G.U.N. 

Another revelation came. Rouge looked down at the hand she used to soothe her throat, and realized it was her left – the same hand Shadow had fastened around her neck to kill. 

_He broke that arm,_ she thought, recalling all the pain even slight movement had caused him. Now he was laying face down, arm dangling off the couch without any indication of a fracture. Rouge looked closer – searching for the burn marks on his back, or the wounds from those inserted tubes. The only scar she could see ran along his shoulder, and the couch was covered with the flakes of old scabs. 

"You really are the ultimate," she whispered. Rouge had to tame this demon. 

Only one thing kept her from getting to work on the past. Shadow's clothing was arranged at the head of the couch, and his hoverskates emitted a magnetic attraction. Stepping around his circle of reach, Rouge slipped the shoes up in her fingers and retreated to the opposite end of the room to try them on. 

They were big on her, of course, leaving lots of toe space. She tried a few awkward steps, wondering how she could get the nitro-jets to float her off the ground. She wiggled her toes to the tip of the skates, and felt the springy resistance of a button or a pad. Her weight pushed down hard. 

Blades unhooked from each side of the sneakers. Her eyes jumped only a second before she restrained her shock behind calm ice. "What the hell?" Quickly, Rouge pulled off the skates for a good look at this surprise. 

Three hooked knives sprung from each inner and outer face, angled to slice flesh with a kick. Rouge thought back to the secret bunker, and how efficiently Shadow had lopped off every robot's head. He was a walking lawnmower, capable of nipping off any limbs that came within these rotary blades! 

Irritation found the bat – why hadn't she discovered this secret before? With a quick glance at the sleeping Shadow, she followed a hunch and crept over to the couch to search the rest of his things. 

The manacled gloves – they had sharpened metal rivets at each finger joint to increase the damage of every punch. Brass knuckles. Both wristlets, identical to the one she had carried for over a month, had an alarming new addition: a little stub that could be pulled to unwind the spool of razor wire inside. Her throat went very dry. 

The ring. The precious ruby ring he made every effort to retain. Rouge touched the jewel, identified it as an imitation and felt it wobble, like a button on a console. She hammered it, and an eight-inch punching dagger popped out of the frame. The ring dropped from her grasp and clattered on the floor. It opened up like a locket. Inside, she found a small screwdriver, flashlight, miniature wire-cutters and a set of lock-picks all recognizable to a trained treasure hunter. 

The skates, the ring, the gloves – all of them had The Doctor's grinning mug etched in their fabric. 

She thought back to the base and the capsule he'd been locked in. She thought of the wires flowing into his legs, his arms, and his shoulder. She thought of his sudden training in martial arts and these hidden weapons – tools of an assassin. Rouge told herself she was not afraid, but there was no denying the terror of her final revelation. This amnesia was no accident. 

Shadow yawned. In a flash, she snatched up the ring, folded away all its concealed weaponry and infiltration kit and replaced his things in exact order. Then she got up and walked hastily out of the room. She shut the door. 

Rouge darted past the sleeping Omega and tiptoed upstairs to find some privacy. She needed to think back over her various heists and assignments – figure out how Shadow could have helped her accomplish the various raids. 

If it all worked, nothing would stop her. The thought returned the bat to her cold calm. There was always a way out; this job was nowhere beyond her skills. She had Omega; she had Shadow – all he needed was a little assurance. Together, nothing would stop her. 

She smiled with content. "Now I have everything I need," she purred, "to get me everything I want." 

Rouge settled down in a corner and began to remember the past two years of her life – years spent scouring the globe for priceless wonders with her partner – the world's second-greatest treasure hunter, Shadow the Hedgehog. 

**

||||||||||

**

_People like us,   
Know how to survive. _

There's no point in living,   
If you can't feel the life 

We know when to kiss,   
And we know when to kill. 

If we can't have it all then nobody will... 

--"The World Is Not Enough". Lyrics by Don Black. 


	15. Epilogue: Master Of The Shadows

/ **E-P-I-L-O-G-U-E-** /

* * *

A new day was dawning over the verdant rainforest of the Mystic Ruins, but within the poisonous gray lands that surrounded Final Egg, a fog of permanent darkness seemed to hang. Each day the stink of spilled oil grew and the ring of withering trees spread, while the soil saturated with toxins. There was no life here.

In the secret bunker it was constant twilight – eternal black with only shadows of green phosphorous to guide the various robots maintaining the emergency shelter. On a floor far deeper than Rouge had dared to explore, four mechanical appendages clinked down the hallway, and a small, twitchy robot like a red crustacean scampered through the subterranean tunnels.

Infantry bot GNI-01, R23 _Mk II_ was obsolete by many years. His code-name matched the unit designation of his kind: Crabmeat. But he was not like those old sentries of his Master's first coup, no. _Mk II._ He was upgraded – endowed with artificial intelligence and capable of independent and highly advanced thought.

The boxy robot with eyestalks and pincers was one of several "administrative units" created to monitor outposts in the absence of their Master. Crabmeat's first command was a sea-bound research facility, where he adapted to routine and efficiency, and where he learned to cower whenever a raging, short-tempered organic dictator visited to inspect and chastise his work. Crabmeat kept himself lowly, and he survived.

After the ARK Incident, and the further encryption breakthroughs on Gerald Robotnik's diary, the little red robot had been entrusted with greater responsibility. Now he was curator of Final Egg's emergency sub-base, where under his watch, projects of utmost importance had grown.

_Proximity alert!_ Another badnik raced down the hallway with great velocity, and Crabmeat leapt for the walls to dodge, pincers aflutter. He tried to steady his out-of-control motors. Had he still been equipped with the weapons of his predecessors, Crabmeat would have unleashed a burst of lasers from his vice-like appendages. Alas, he was stripped bare, and could only do his best to control the reflexive maneuver when it popped up. Master had learned to be wary of robots with both intelligence _and_ ammunition.

He did his best to override the high-strung defensive protocols, processing that his Master was _not_ sending a war-mech to exterminate him for failure. The passing robot was just one of janitorial staff – insectile drones automated to clean their allotted sector according to an internal timer.

The bug was moving far earlier than programmed, but that was not unexpected, given the destruction rampant around the base. In the event of such unscheduled and uncleanly disasters, individual scarab bots could be manually controlled, and guided towards whatever unwanted mess crept into a facility…

Crabmeat arrived at a tall, impressive door, which opened at his motions. He had some most wonderful news to report.

Light spilled forth in the abundant rays humans enjoyed. Crabmeat adjusted his stalk-eyes and scuttled in to the vast and lavish sanctum prepared for the man of many titles: The Terrorist; The Doctor; The Mastermind Behind The Robot-Related Attacks. Crabmeat called him Master, and the darkness beyond centered on the glory that was Robotnik.

His visage was everywhere: stamped into the floor, draped in velvet over the walls and flashing on the computer monitors. An enormous throne was mounted on a podium above the inner sanctum, and powerful spotlights kept it in constant brilliance. Everything beyond was fenced off in darkness – unworthy to share in His perfection. An icy blue illuminated the servant at the border of this radiance.

The chair rotated to address the intruder. Behind Crabmeat, the doors clanged shut, locking him inside. The spineless crustacean let his pincers chatter nervously.

The Lord seated in the throne was a shock of a sight. It mattered little whether he transmitted from a towering television or a thundering loudspeaker – he was every bit terrifying and intimidating in person. In the center of the room sat an enlarged, yet perfect physical replica of the legendary scientist Gerald Robotnik. This carefully tailored double tapped an electronic data-pad on his armrest, clearly displeased.

"That was quite a bit of noise up there," he remarked, with a slight gesture to the ceiling and battle-scarred floors overhead. His commanding voice bit through the skittish robot with snarling accent. "I _do_ hope it was worth the damage."

A strobelight shot down Crabmeat's tiny body, pinning him at the witness stand. His pincers quivered despite the success of the times. Master always made him quiver.

"Your Excellence," he began, in his usual flourished speech. "I am pleased to announce that, thanks to your _unparalleled_ brilliance and improvisation, we have accomplished a great advancement. As you predicted, and with some incentive, the intruder discovered this facility."

The Doctor gave no reaction. He exhaled in a slow and thoughtful stillness. "You didn't let her escape too easily, did you?"

"Your Brilliance, I dispatched the entire garrison to impede her way! It was no small feat to exit this emergency shelter."

His Master nodded, and gave his excessive moustache a contemplative twirl. Crabmeat grew more and more unsteady – The report was producing no change in demeanor. A rapid clicking jerked through the air while The Doctor continued a quiet consideration of the events. The tiny bot cringed, fearing great displeasure once he delivered the _other_ news.

Master finally spoke. "So, my Messenger has been set loose?"

Crabmeat leapt at the chance to spout his accomplishments. "Your Exaltedness, Project _Infection_ has come to an unscheduled, unexpected and complete success!"

A small, but satisfied nod. "He won't remember anything, will he?"

"No, your Wondrousness! Not until the implants are deactivated."

Again, Master nodded, still thinking. This was some measure of compliment, and Crabmeat computed that now was the time to ease in his _other_ news.

"Sire," he paused to silence his claws, but that was beyond conscious control now. "Sire … before we could divert her, she did make an additional theft. She … she took the experimental unit."

"HA!" His Master's laughter was like a gunshot and Crabmeat jumped and hid his eyestalks in his pincers. This was it – this was the end! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

The laughter tapered down to a small, controlled chuckle. "What luck!" he cackled. "To think – even now that she's betrayed me outright, that treacherous leech can still do my work!"

Carefully, cautiously, Crabmeat swiveled an eyestalk to check for impending doom. Master continued, ignorant to his presence.

"Never did I imagine it would be Rouge! And so soon! I thought we'd have to dump Him somewhere for that hedgehog to discover…"

Crabmeat tested the waters with a compliment. "Your foresight is unparalleled, your most Infallibleness."

But his Master just kept going – snared by his own brilliance. "Yesss, yes, it's not what I had in mind … but she is the _perfect_ carrier! There's no question: she _will_ take him to G.U.N. … and we won't have to risk involving the hedgehog or his fox to do the work for us!"

"Yes, I can see her now – so smug, so invincible. Expecting the greatest reward for her find, yess… And those tyrannical fools will take him to their finest, most secure headquarters, to lock him up; examine him again."

Laughter once more – the chuckles were growing. "And once they take him inside … BAM!" He slammed his fist into his armrest, smashing a button on the control console.

"The Legacy of Robotnik will finally be fulfilled…"

He dismissed the assistant with an effortless wave of the hand. "Well then, I don't suppose I'll need this place anymore. Activate evacuation protocols, Crabmeat, and begin flush procedures. We leave immediately."

"As you command, your most colossal Excellence!"

Ivo Robotnik nodded and let the simpering coward scuttle away. He had more important things to concern with. The spotlights adjusted to catch the screen of his data-pad, containing the copy of grandfather's diary, and he continued his re-reading, this time aloud.

"I will tell you the secrets of life. Of the Ultimate Life." He smiled, and looked adoringly to the computers. On the monitors, there rotated a computerized model of the perfected double helix of DNA.

Secret no longer. "It will all end, Grandfather; the hour approaches. Our Messenger will soon be in position…"

--_Tylec Asroc  
_March 7, 2004.

* * *


End file.
